


A Bundle of Sky

by kanonkita



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Angst, Aromantic Pairing, Comedy, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, Infertility, Kidnapping, M/M, Mechpreg, Mpreg, One Night Stand, Relationship Problems, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Trine Dynamics, everyone's a bit baby hungry, interfaction drama, keeping secrets, mommy skywarp, optimus what the hell, sparkling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-24 05:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15623346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonkita/pseuds/kanonkita
Summary: What could be worse than Skywarp accidentally getting sparked while blackout drunk? As the one who accidentally sparked him, Sideswipe can't think of anything. At least no one knows he's the sire... right?





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Spoon888 and I have been feeding each other's hunger for baby robots all year, and this and Thrax have been the results. You're welcome. Lol
> 
> There's an E rating because there will definitely be at least two explicit scenes, but don't hold your breaths for them. And don't think too hard about timeline or whatever. It's G1. Just have fun.

“It's just disgusting,” Starscream proclaimed, jumping to his pedes and resuming his pacing of the empty medbay for the fifth time in the last two minutes.

On the other side of the room, Thundercracker looked up from his datapad and heaved a sigh.

“So you've been saying for the past few months,” he rumbled.

“This shouldn't have happened!” his trine leader continued, looking like the universe itself had betrayed him. “I mean, I know he's an idiot—we _all_ know he's an idiot—but _this much_ of an idiot!? It's not that hard to keep track of when you're cycling!”

“Yes, well, it did happen,” his more stoic trinemate pointed out. “And the real problem is still—”

The sound of someone screaming in the annex cut him off. It was the raw, visceral kind of scream that a mech let out when he was in true pain. Both seekers in the main room winced as an echo of that pain reverberated through their trine bond.

“Is he going to keep doing that all night?” Starscream wondered as the sound subsided into a wail and then choked sobs.

“Probably,” Thundercracker shrugged. “It's not exactly a pleasant process from what I've heard.”

“So, you've never actually seen it, either?” Starscream sniffed.

“Of course not. It's not like I've had any more opportunities than you.”

The screams redoubled and Starscream turned to the annex door, expression torn between annoyance and horror.

“Primus! Can't they disable his pain receptors? Or at least his vocalizer! I don't think I can stand listening to that much longer.”

“I'm sure your comfort is everyone's top priority right now, Star,” Thundercracker muttered, going back to his datapad.

Starscream sneered at the nickname and stepped toward the door controls. “Well, I'm going to ask,” he announced as he slapped the command for the doors to open.

The room beyond was bustling with activity. All six of the constructicons had crammed themselves in, though Starscream suspected it was less out of necessity and more because none of them wanted to be out of the loop on such a juicy moment. On a berth in the middle of all of them was Skywarp, legs splayed wide and helm thrown back in agony. Starscream was blissfully spared the full view by Hook, who was crouched over and staring intently at the space between the purple seeker's legs.

“Scavenger, hand me a scalpel,” the medic ordered, thrusting an impatient servo at one of his gestalt mates. “We're gonna need to cut a bit.”

He caught sight of Starscream standing stricken in the doorway as he turned to receive the instrument.

“Can I help you, Commander?” he demanded, looking exceptionally irritated.

“I...just... Does he really need his pain receptors on for this?” Starscream stammered, trying and failing to look away from the spectacle that his trinemate had made of himself.

Skywarp apparently recognized his voice, and his helm snapped up, optics coming back online.

“Star!” he wailed, reaching his servos out for him. “Star, I take it back! Don't leave me; it hurts so bad!”

“If you'd gotten him in a bit earlier,” Hook managed to get in over the seeker's begging. “I might have gotten that done before the real labor set in, but if I do it now, it'll screw up the contractions and possibly hurt the sparkling. Did you want that?”

Starscream shook his helm fervently.

“Good. Now go away. You're too distracting.”

Starscream was just opening his mouth to protest that Skywarp was _his_ slagging trinemate and he _wanted_ Starscream there when Hook moved aside a bit and the seeker finally got a glimpse of the _piece de resistance_. Starscream blanched, his tanks rolling, and hastily turned to leave.

“Sorry, Warp. I'll send in T.C.,” he called as he fled the annex, wings low and taut.

He slammed his servo against the door controls and then leaned up against the wall beside them, venting hard for a moment.

“That good, huh?” Thundercracker jibed from the other side of the room.

“That,” Starscream told him emphatically, “is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, and _I've_ seen Megatron cleaning out the seams in his pedes! Why does anyone go through that when cold construction works just fine?”

“Supposedly, becoming a creator is one of the most sublime experiences a 'bot can have,” the other seeker shrugged.

“Yeah, well, you can go experience that sublimation firsthand, if you want. Warp was asking for you.”

“He was asking for _you_.”

“Only because he could see me,” Starscream snapped. “We both know he'd rather have you!”

Thundercracker gave him a judging look before slapping his datapad down on the berth and heaving himself to his pedes.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, pushing Starscream aside so that he could access the door controls. The chaos of the annex sounded clearly through the medbay for a moment before the doors slid shut behind him.

Starscream hesitated, wringing his servos as he stared at the closed doors, before moving to sit on the berth that his trinemate had vacated. He thought about dimming his audial receptors so that he couldn't hear every time Skywarp's voice crescendo-ed in pain, but decided it wasn't worth it; he would still feel the other seeker's distress echoed back to him through their bond.

And to think that they'd originally thought he was coming down with the holoflu! Megatron had ordered the teleporter into quarantine for fear that all of his troops would go down with it by the end of the cycle otherwise. It had taken over a week for Scrapper to get suspicious and start running tests. If it had been anyone else, it likely would have taken several more months before he had thought to check for sparking, but with Skywarp...

Well, half the faction was scrambling over themselves in terror that they'd be the unlucky sap that the coding tests pointed to in the end. Starscream had no doubt that a good many of them were crowded outside the medbay doors now.

Not that all of them had been reluctant. Ramjet, for one, had claimed in no small certainty that _he_ was the sire and started insisting that he and Skywarp needed to move in together so that he could do his duty. Skywarp had told him that he would rather give birth to a ravening horde of insecticons than share quarters with him.

As for who the sire really was, apparently not even Skywarp knew. He said that there was one night around the right time when he'd had too much high grade and woken up in some field somewhere with telling signs of a hearty interface, but that was the night after Megatron had installed the Heart of Cybertron; not even _Soundwave_ had been sober enough to remember what had happened that night.

Regardless, Skywarp had become insipidly overjoyed at the prospect of having a sparkling the moment he found out, even after Starscream dredged up some old holovids about birthing and every horror story he could find about raising a sparkling. He'd always known there was something wrong with his youngest trinemate's processor, but never until that moment had he realized just how badly glitched he might be.

He was also surprised at how willing Megatron had proven to indulge the expectant seeker, but then—as the warlord himself had pointed out—every potential new recruit counted at this point in the war. Starscream just worried that Megatron might get it into his head to start encouraging the rest of the troops to reproduce—or worse. The universe really didn't need more of the likes of Astrotrain or Motormaster.

Starscream wasn't sure how he felt about there being more of Skywarp in the world either, but uncertainty was a familiar state for him these days.

The medbay doors opened then, revealing the crowd he had suspected was out there along with Megatron himself. The Air Commander scowled at both as his leader strode toward him with those obnoxiously long legs of his, and then the doors slid shut and he had nothing left but Megatron to direct his irritation at.

“How long has it been?” the other mech asked without greeting or preamble.

“Nearly 10 hours since his inner seal broke,” Starscream replied, keeping his tone and posture pointedly formal. “About three since we got him in there.”

“He was grounded for a reason,” his commander growled. “What in the pit were you _thinking_ taking him out in that state!?”

“That it's not healthy for any seeker to be trapped down here—least of all a carrying creator and his sparkling!” Starscream protested, dropping the formality. “Anyway, he was overdue, and we got him started, so there!”

The disappointment in Megatron's gaze didn't budge, and Starscream shifted uncomfortably beneath it. Even he knew that they could have seriously fragged up on this one, but... all's well that ended well, right? Skywarp's sparkling had _not_ dropped in the middle of the Atlantic, and they'd gotten him to Hook before any kind of complications could arise. Sure, there was the bit about getting him in too late to do anything for the pain, but Starscream hardly felt he deserved Megatron's judgment to quite this extent.

“Anyway, what do you care?” the seeker huffed, folding his arms and turning his back on the other mech. “It's not like _you're_ one of the potential sires.”

“Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

Starscream whipped around so fast he nearly cracked his neck.

“You wouldn't _dare!_ ” he snarled, fury and suspicion flashing in his optics.

“He'd be a better berthmate than _you_ , I'm sure,” Megatron muttered.

“Shows what _you_ know,” Starscream sniffed. “He's a stage four clinger, even for those of us not romantically involved with him.”

“Well, from what I've been unfortunate enough to overhear in the troops over the years, he more than makes up for it with technique.”

“Don't talk about my trinemate like thaAAGH!” Starscream's angry hiss morphed into a cry of panic and surprise as a particularly strong pain shot through his trinebond. His knees buckled beneath him and a pair of strong, black servos caught him under the arms before he could hit the floor.

“Is something wrong?” Megatron asked, peering intently into his second's face, all previous signs of annoyance gone.

“I'm fine!” Starscream snapped, swatting at his suffocatingly concerned leader.

“I wasn't asking about you in the first place,” Megatron assured him, scowling at the door through which Skywarp's redoubled screams were sounding. “It sounds like they're killing him in there.”

“He'll be fine,” Starscream insisted, sounding more confident than he felt. But then, if something were really wrong, Thundercracker would have let him know, right?

He was just wondering if perhaps he should swallow his squeamishness and go in there after all when the screaming suddenly petered out and came to an end. Starscream stood stock still, his wings pulled high as he waited for something—anything. There were so many things that could go wrong in a birthing after all, and he felt nothing but emptiness from either end of his trinebond for a moment that seemed to stretch for eternity.

And then, like a cool wind in a desert, a new cry came up—thin and hoarse and unlike anything he'd heard in millions of years. Feeling came bursting back through the bond; bright, exuberant, joyful feeling from both Skywarp and Thundercracker, and Starscream let out a spurt of relieved laughter at the sensation.

He relaxed, and it was only then that he felt the servo Megatron had put on his back, no doubt in an attempt to comfort him. Giddiness made him bolder than usual, and he found himself turning to leap into his leader's arms, mashing their mouths together with sloppy enthusiasm. Megatron stumbled back beneath his weight for a moment before collecting himself and folding his arms under the seeker's backside with an appreciative hum.

The annex door slid open, and Megatron hastily dropped his second-in-command as Hook came striding out into the main medbay, wiping energon-stained servos on a towel.

“Lord Megatron,” the medic acknowledged with a tilt of his helm before throwing a judgmental glance in Starscream's direction.

The seeker sneered back. Everyone in their faction seemed convinced that _he_ was the one climbing needily into _Megatron's_ berth night after night.

“What's the news, Doctor?” Megatron asked, trying his best to look dignified with the marks of Starscream's dentae on the corner of his mouth.

“It's a seeker mech,” Hook announced. “Slightly larger than expected, but initial scans are good. Too soon to tell who the sire might be just by looking, but I can start running coding samples tomorrow.”

“And Skywarp?” Starscream wanted to know, trying to peer around the other mech to see his trinemates. He could hear them cooing over the new arrival, and coding Starscream hadn't thought he still possessed had him itching to join them. Provided all the messy bits were out of the way, that was.

“Go for it,” Hook sighed, stepping aside.

Starscream hesitated only a second longer before shooting past him like a cannon blast.

The other constructicons were busy cleaning up the mess on the floor and doing other medical-y things that Starscream didn't really care about. Bonecrusher looked up when he came in and threw him a sly grin.

“Bet you're next, eh, Screamy?” he said to the sniggers of his fellows.

Starscream sneered at him, but was too distracted to do more.

Skywarp was propped up on the berth, covered to the waist with an insulation sheet and a small bundle of smaller sheets nestled in his arms. He looked utterly exhausted, but there was a joy in his face as he stared down at that little bundle that was more insipid than anything Starscream had ever seen there before. Thundercracker had climbed up onto the berth beside him and curled around the younger seeker, his own expression somewhere between wonder and the same thing Skywarp was projecting.

“I believe it is customary to offer congratulations on such an occasion,” Starscream huffed, trying his darnedest to keep such ridiculous emotions from overtaking his own expression.

His trinemates looked up, Thundercracker disapproving and Skywarp ecstatic.

“Star!” he gushed, shifting his sparkling so that he could extend one eager servo toward his trine leader. “Come see, come see!”

The other seeker hesitated again before stepping forward to find out what all the fuss was about.

Inside the blankets lay a tiny lump of gray armor, its scrawny, out of proportion arms fidgeting jerkily as its creator tilted it a bit so that Starscream could see. It made a little grunting noise and Skywarp's spark pulsed with pride and delight at his trinemates.

“I thought sparklings were a bit more...chubby. And rosy-cheeked,” Starscream remarked.

“Hook says all of them start out kind of small and funny-looking,” Thundercracker explained, reaching for Starscream's wrist to tug him closer. There wasn't really room for all three of them on the berth, but they made it work by shunting Skywarp into both of their laps.

“What'll you call him?” Starscream asked when they'd settled.

“I still haven't decided,” Skywarp yawned, nestling his helm against his trine leader's shoulder. “I mean, he'll have that name his whole life, so it's gotta be good.”

His trinemates hummed in agreement, and Starscream looked down at the newspark again. All at once, almost like the break of dawn, its optics snapped open and Starscream found himself staring into twin crimson universes, endless and full of life undiscovered. He reached out a digit toward one of the still-waving servos. The sparkling found him and latched on, digits far too small to be allowed encasing his own.

“He likes you,” Skywarp chuckled tiredly.

“Must not be a very good judge of character,” Thundercracker teased.

Starscream looked up to scowl at him and caught sight of Megatron standing in the doorway, watching them with a softness that no mech who had been partially responsible for the destruction of an entire planet had any right showing. With an awkward cough, Starscream started disentangling himself from his trinemates.

“Where are you going?” Skywarp asked, sounding disappointed.

“I have things to do,” Starscream muttered, resisting the urge to take one last look at the sparkling before he swept out of the room, slapping his leader's groping servos as he went.

Back on the medbay berth, Skywarp sighed and leaned over into his other trinemate.

“He'll get over it,” Thundercracker assured him, though he honestly had no clue what 'it' even was.

“I know,” Skywarp mumbled back, and moments later, he was deep in recharge against the other seeker's cockpit, perfectly content in almost every way.

 


	2. As the Nemesis Sinks

****“Negative!?” Skywarp squawked, staring at Scrapper as though the medic had just announced he was a carrier for micro-scraplets.

“Every single one of them,” the Constructicon reiterated. “Including Ramjet, I'm sure you're pleased to know.”

Skywarp sat back in the chair, shifting the bundle of insulation sheets in his arms as the newspark inside started fussing. He still hadn't come up with a name for his son, though most of his comrades had taken to calling him “Stinky,” much to Skywarp's annoyance. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the gravity of the offense in a ship trapped several miles beneath the surface of the sea, but it wasn't the newspark's fault that he couldn't control his exhaust functions yet.

He himself was favoring “Screamy” as a nickname because it was both accurate and annoyed his trine leader. Part of Skywarp's hesitation to pick a permanent name was a sense that perhaps he should wait until he found out who the sire was (not that he was planning on letting anyone else have input on his son's name; it was just the principle of the thing), but now it looked like that was going to be even longer than he'd thought.

“Are you sure it wasn't a mistake?” he asked the medic.

“I wish it was,” Scrapper sighed, flipping his datachart around so that the seeker could see it too. “We checked the results five times and even had a couple of them come back to give us new coding samples, just in case. Now we're gonna have to test the entire ship.”

“That's... No one's going to be very happy about that,” Skywarp concluded, counting himself among the dissatisfied masses.

“Tell me about it,” Scrapper sighed. “Your son seems to be doing well enough so far, but my files on seekers say that it's important for them to have both parents around for healthy spark development.”

“Well, he's only half-seeker... probably... so he only needs half his parents, right?” Skywarp ventured, one servo coming up unconsciously as thought to shield his son from the medic's words.

“Regardless of what his sire contributed, his frame coding came up all you. Probably best to treat him like a full seeker,” Scrapper explained, reaching for the tray of tools he'd assembled for Skywarp's one week postnatal examination. “Now, go ahead and open up so we can get this over with.”

About an hour later, plating slightly ruffled from all the prodding, Skywarp made his way out of the medbay with his newspark nestled up on his shoulder. At least the examination had gone well. His epesiotomy was almost healed already—thank Primus—and his gestation chamber had shrunk to its proper size without issue. Apparently, his filtration system was perfectly up to snuff as well, which was a relief (it hadn't been putting out much the first few days, and Skywarp had worried he might have damaged it at some point), but the big question he'd been hoping to get answered was still as much a mystery as ever.

“What now, little guy?” he murmured, stroking a servo between what Scrapper and Hook both assured him would be a fine pair of wings one day. Screamy made a small chirruping noise and a blob of drool rolled down Skywarp's shoulder. The seeker sighed and wiped at it with a corner of insulation sheet. “You know I love you, but you are a lot of work for one mech.”

It was kind of amazing just how much Skywarp did love his son. The past week had been a recharge-deprived whirl of crying and feeding and cleaning, and sometimes Skywarp was the one crying for no reason while he washed spit-up out of his son's sheets for the fifth time that day. But then he'd finally get a moment when he was free to sit down and just _look_ at his son, and suddenly he'd be crying all over again at how beautifully perfect the seekerling was. He already knew that he would do anything for the little guy—even throw down with Optimus Prime, should the need ever arise.

Starscream had made several comments already about how the younger seeker's creator protocols had overtaken his logic circuits and rendered him utterly useless, but Skywarp didn't care. He was well aware that he'd already been next to useless except for his warp drive, so he might as well devote himself to being a creator now that he had the option. Maybe if he did a good enough job at that, his son would grow up to be a better contribution to the Deception cause than he ever had been.

Unfortunately, something kept telling him that if he wanted that to happen, his son _needed_ a sire. There was the whole matter of seekers growing up more stable and healthy if they got regular exposure to both parents' spark fields, yes, but he also just felt like there was supposed to be someone else there with him for all of this. He'd tried to do the birth alone in defiance of that particular urge, and look how well _that_ had gone—he'd thought he was going to die until Thundercracker had come to hold his servo! So, he'd honestly hoped the coding tests would turn up a nice, dependable sire today. Maybe Blitzwing or Long Haul. They'd both been on his list and were relatively acceptable—even if Blitzwing did have a strange obsession with human sports and a massively secret crush on Thundercracker...

“Hey, Warp!”

The seeker pulled himself out of his thoughts as he recognized Dirge's voice and turned to see the entire conehead trine staring at him from the mess hall doorway. An increasingly familiar part of Skywarp's processor flared to life, screaming at him to teleport out of there _right now_ before any of the other seekers could hurt his newspark. He quashed it down as best he could, but still found himself cradling his precious cargo closer as his wings hitched up his back.

“Did you need something?” he asked the other mechs, and it came out more hostile than he'd intended. Maybe Starscream had a point about these creator protocols—they were being a little ridiculous. The coneheads weren't a threat. He'd slept with all three of them in the past, sometimes at the same time.

“Relax, doofus,” Thrust chuckled as the three of them strode closer. “We're not gonna touch your sparkling.”

“You just saw Scrapper, right?” Ramjet wanted to know, craning his neck to see said sparkling as Skywarp pulled the insulation sheet up over his helm.

“So, what's the news?” Dirge pressed.

“No one passed,” Skywarp announced. “They're gonna do a ship-wide sweep.”

Two of the three coneheads relaxed visibly as the prospect of sirehood that had been hanging over them for the past few months finally lifted, but the droop to Ramjet's wings looked more like disappointment.

“Well, that opens up a whole new window,” Dirge mused. “What happens to the money in the betting pool if no one wagered on 'nobody?'”

That was a good question, Skywarp reflected. He himself had put some money down on Astrotrain—secretly, of course—based solely on the number of times he had enthusiastically allowed the massive shuttlebot access to his valve (there were more sensitive partners on the _Nemesis_ , but few with as satisfactory of equipment).

“Maybe it'll just be double or nothing on this round?” he guessed.

Thrust hummed thoughtfully for a moment before his optics flicked back to the lump on Skywarp's shoulder. “Hey, can we see him? Just a little peek. Haven't seen a newspark in too long.”

The seeker hesitated, but the eager looks now plastered across all three of the coneheads' faces were innocent enough. He carefully shifted Screamy down into his arms so that he was more visible. The newspark waved his limbs in agitation at being disturbed and blew a few spit bubbles.

All three of the seasoned warriors instantly melted into simpering idiots.

“Warp, he's adorable!” Thrust declared, as if the seeker didn't already know.

“He looks just like you!” Dirge added.

“Awww! Wook at 'is widdle face,” Ramjet gushed, extending a digit to poke at one of the sparkling's meshy little cheeks.

Skywarp felt his spark swell slightly at their admiration of his pride and joy, but Screamy looked around with wide optics for all of two seconds before his face screwed up in distress and he let out one of the howls that had earned him his nickname.

The coneheads jumped back in surprise, and Skywarp cradled his sparkling back against his cockpit in alarm, making shushing noises and trying to pulse comfort at him. It didn't work like sharing empathic information with his trinemates did, but sparklings were supposed to at least be sensitive to their creators' spark energies, weren't they?

“Not too fond of strangers, huh?” Dirge remarked.

“Nothing like his creator, then, eh?” Ramjet leered.

The jibe was not as funny to Skywarp as it might have been a year ago, and he answered it with a pout, which was ruined when one of Screamy's flailing servos hit him in the jaw. In his efforts to reposition the newspark yet again, the insulation sheet slipped off and slithered to the floor in a silvery puddle. Skywarp bent to pick it up with a noise of frustration.

“Hey, he's got some color coming out on him!” Thrust announced excitedly, and Skywarp quickly straightened up. He didn't remember there being any color on his sparkling an hour ago when Hook was examining him, but sure enough, there was a patch of crimson now spreading out from between his wing nubs.

Crimson.

Who did that leave? Dead End? Maybe Wildrider? They both had red on them, but they were still practically sparklings themselves. Skywarp sincerely hoped that even stupidly overcharged he hadn't interfaced with any of the Stunticons. Maybe color coding could slip sideways through a trine bond?

“I've... gotta go fuel him,” the seeker muttered—which was probably true, judging by how much fuel had filtered into his reservoir since the last time—and he pushed on through the other mechs, picking up speed as he headed for his trine's shared quarters.

 

* * *

 

“Skywarp... Primus, you're so hot...”

Skywarp moaned in agreement as the other mech pushed into him harder, jolting his wings across the flattened organic plants beneath them. They were outside? Anyone could stumble on them out here: Autobots, other Decepticons, _humans..._ Frag, it was thrilling!

“Faster!” Skywarp breathed, digging his thrusters into the other mech's back.

He couldn't quite tell who it was. The sensations were clear, but the images were hazy. He must have drunk quite a lot. The stars overhead were too bright—bright and blue and watching him like they couldn't believe their luck at getting such a show. Whoever was facing him knew what they were doing, and Skywarp could feel his overload building, a strange wailing sound creeping into his awareness as it did.

“Ah... Close! So close!” he whimpered, and the other mech dropped down on top of him, wrapping strong arms around him so that his moans were muffled in unfamiliar red armor as the thrusts got harder and faster and the wailing got louder and louder and...

“Warp... Warp? _Skywarp!?_ ”

The seeker jolted awake with a snort to find his face buried in extremely _familiar_ red armor. Starscream groaned sleepily, squirming in his grasp, and Skywarp felt a knot of embarrassment twist his tanks as he realized his cooling fans were on a low hum. He had error messages for an aborted overload and... backed up filtration system?

“Skywarp, wake up already!” Thundercracker's deep voice interrupted, and a large servo shook his shoulder.

Skywarp let go of his trine leader, wincing at a strange stab of pain somewhere in the vicinity of his warp drive, and rolled over to find himself blinking up at his other trinemate. He was about to demand why Thundercracker was bothering him in the wee hours of the morning when his audio sensors came fully online and he recognized the wailing that had interrupted his dream as a sparkling's— _his_ sparkling's.

Skywarp gave a cry of distress and started working to untangle himself from the insulation sheets, smacking Starscream in the face with a wing as he did.

“Owwuh! Megs, that hu... _Fraggit_ , _Skywarp!_ ” Starscream shrieked.

“I've got him right here, Warp,” Thundercracker said, holding the fussing ball of armor out to his trinemate before any other injuries could occur.

Oh. Of course he did. Skywarp sat up and slid his son out of the blue seeker's arms with a sympathetic hushing noise.

“I know, I know, Screamy. Just hold on a sec,” he cooed.

“Will you _please_ pick a different name for him!?” Starscream snapped before jerking the covers up over his helm.

Skywarp frowned as he started working to unspool the auxiliary feeding tube from his side. He was starting to feel just the slightest twinge of guilt about the nickname.

As expected, the announcement about the ship-wide search for Screamy's sire had not gone down well with everyone. Starscream had, for some reason, suddenly started acting like he suspected _Megatron_ was the sire. He left no blame for this matter on Skywarp—thankfully—claiming that their leader must have accosted his trinemate in an overcharged display of his true nature. Megatron had replied to the accusation by pointing out that, Skywarp's sparkling gradually turning out to be bright red in color, there was just as much chance that it was Starscream who had done the accosting.

He hadn't sounded any more serious than Skywarp suspected Starscream was, but that hadn't stopped his trineleader from expressing his displeasure with a nullray blast to their commander's face. All of which had ended with severe damage to the bridge and Starscream sleeping in their trine quarters again—something he had sworn he would never do so long as there was a newspark also sharing the space.

“I told you moving in with him was a bad idea,” Skywarp yawned as he brushed the dripping end of the feeding tube across his son's lips, trying to get him to latch on. “You should've just gotten your own quarters if you wanted somewhere else to go.”

“You can't 'move in' with someone you already live on the same ship as,” Starscream muttered back. “Can't you feed him in the living room? I'm trying to recharge here.”

“You're the one who said we could get rid of your berth to make room for his crib,” Skywarp reminded him before pleading with his sparkling: “Come on, bitlet; it's fuel! Just drink it!”

“You could recharge over here if you want,” Thundercracker offered from the other side of the room.

Starscream grunted and sat up, but instead of moving to the other berth, he scooted closer to Skywarp. “Tilt his legs closer to you,” he instructed, nudging the other seeker's arms into a different position. “They have an instinct not to latch on until their bodies are straight at this age in case of kinks in the digestive track. Didn't you read any of those datapads Soundwave gave you?”

“Did _you?_ ” Skywarp asked incredulously as the newspark's lips finally closed around the end of the tube.

“And good job I did, apparently,” his trineleader grumbled,

“I looked at the pictures...” Skywarp muttered as his son suckled greedily on the filtered energon. The ache in his abdomen was starting to subside, and the error message about a backed up filtration system had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Starscream if he'd read anything about that particular error message in any of the datapads, and then decided he didn't need to inflate his trine leader's self-importance right now.

He looked back down at his sparkling instead to find massive red optics staring up at him as if in wonder.

“Hey, sweetie,” he cooed, stroking a servo over the newspark's delicate armor.

“He needs a new name,” Starscream insisted, nestling his chin on his trinemate's shoulder.

Skywarp leaned into his warmth while he considered. “Spitfire?” he mused.

“Sounds like an Autobot,” Thundercracker put in while Starscream snorted in disgust.

“Antares?” he tried next. “It's a red giant star that you can see from Earth.”

“Why do you keep naming him after me!?” Starscream demanded, pinching one of Skywarp's wings.

“I'm not...!” The other seeker stopped his protest abruptly when his son started to fuss again. When he'd gotten the newspark happily sucking at the energon once more, he returned to defend himself. “How is that naming him after you?”

“Because it's a _star_ ,” Starscream said, pulling back so that he could roll his optics at his trinemate.

“You can't just claim all the stars, Star!” Skywarp protested.

“Whatever. Just don't name him something stupid like 'Doomwind,' or 'Deathwing,'” his trineleader muttered, sinking back down onto the side of the berth he had claimed for himself. “And can he be quieter? Some of us have to be up for morning briefing.”

“Then turn off your audials or go recharge with T.C., or something!” Skywarp snapped, shoving him with a pede.

He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed when Starscream actually did, disentangling himself from the covers and stalking across the room with an angry huff to burrow down beside Thundercracker. Skywarp heard his other trinemate's pleasantly disgruntled noises as their leader shifted him aside to make room. As trying as Starscream could be, they'd both missed his presence since he and Megatron had found better ways to work out their frustrations with each other. Physical affection without ulterior motives or expectations was such a rare thing in their faction.

Skywarp had other outlets for his platonic affections now, though, he reminded himself as his son started to go limp in his arms, fueling himself into recharge. He leaned down to press a kiss to the little gray helm, and inhaled the scent of fresh new armor and that distinct newspark musk. His son gave a little grunt, optics starting to fall shut. Nothing had ever felt so right since the day their trine first bonded, and a part of Skywarp hoped they never found out who the sire was. He wanted to keep this one thing to himself.

 

* * *

 

The Autobot base was never a great place for privacy, and even less so if you had a spark-split twin, but Sideswipe never stopped trying. His current refuge of choice was inside one of the _Ark_ 's thrusters. It could get a bit warm at times, but it was better than being stuck in the middle of the organized chaos that was Autobot Earth life.

Today, he was reclining at the very back of the cone, optics fixed on the portable television set he had balanced on his chassis and comms muted for all but emergencies. This was likely the only chance he'd get to see the season 13 finale for _As the Kitchen Sinks_ before some idiot went and spoiled it for him. Sunstreaker was one of the only mechs on base who didn't follow the series, and so had seen no problem scheduling himself and Sideswipe for patrol last night. Jerk. Sideswipe had spent all morning dodging comrades until the 10:00 rerun came on.

So far, it was living up to the hype the TV spots had given it; Katy had finally discovered the secret affair between Donna and Gordon that started clear back in season five. The heiress was just confronting her faithless lover, gun in hand, and Sideswipe's spark was in his mouth when a ping came through the only comm line that he couldn't mute.

“ _What_ , Sunny!?” the Lamborghini demanded, wishing humans would figure out how to make pauseable broadcasts already.

“The results are in,” his brother informed him without preamble.

“I'm busy, so make sense or hang up,” Sideswipe told him as, on the screen, Katy raised her gun, hands shaking.

“Latest intel report from the _Nemesis_ ,” Sunstreaker elaborated.

Sideswipe gasped, the interruption _almost_ forgiven.

There was only one form of entertainment that the Autobots as a whole enjoyed more than human soap operas, and that was the ever-unfolding, realtime soap opera that their rival faction was playing out for them at the bottom of the Pacific. He and Sunstreaker had often speculated on whether or not the Cons followed Autobot drama with half as much gusto, but Cliffjumper's unfounded grudge of the week hardly compared to Megatron and Starscream suddenly hooking up earlier that year or _Sywarp_ getting _sparked_ and _forgetting who the fragging sire was!_

All of them had feigned ignorance as to why the Decepticons were down a key soldier for the last few months while simultaneously rubbing their servos together in delight every time the general-clearance-level details of each new intel report came out. Naturally, Smokescreen had set up a massive betting pool about the sire's identity, which everyone from Bumblebee to Ratchet had gotten in on.

And now the results were in, and Sideswipe... Well, Sideswipe had a lot more riding on them than anyone else in the faction.

“So, who's the unlucky mech?” Sideswipe asked, as casually as possible.

There was a pause before Sunstreaker replied. “You're awfully anxious over a few credits,” he accused. “You didn't go fixing a bigger bet behind my back again, did you?”

“Yes,” his twin lied, hastily narrowing the amount of emotion he was leaking through their bond. “But you can yell at me after I know if I won or not.”

“Primus, Sides! Unless you bet on 'fragging none of them,' you and everyone else just lost hardcore to Ratchet,” Sunstreaker growled. “How much did you bet!?”

Sideswipe felt a chill sweep through him as those words sank in. On screen, Gordon was on his knees, pleading with Katy to forgive him, but the Lamborghini barely heard the words.

“Wh... What do you mean, 'none of them?'” he croaked.

“I mean they tested the sparkling's coding against everyone on Skywarp's list, and they all came back negative. _How much did you bet?_ ”

“No, it wasn't that much,” Sideswipe assured him hastily. “Just 50 credits.”

“Oh.” Sunstreaker's anger quickly abated. “Thought it was gonna be a couple hundred, or something with how much you were freaking out.”

“Freaking... I'm not freaking out!” Sideswipe lied again. He didn't like hiding things from his twin, but there was no reason that _anyone_ needed to know about the hazy night of overcharged tomfoolery that had had Sideswipe chewing the ends of his digits with as much anticipation as the likes of Ramjet and Astrotrain for the last nine months. “So, what are they gonna do now?” he pressed. “I mean, it's gotta have a sire _somewhere_.”

Sunstreaker twin snorted. “Get this: they're gonna run its coding against _everyone_ in the base, just in case—even Buckethead himself—and Screamer is _pissed_. The way Mirage tells it, the idiot's gotten it into his processor that Megatron's the sire, and then I guess Megatron made a joke about the sparkling having red bodywork like Screamer, and now Soundwave is replacing half the consoles on the bridge.”

“Red?” Sideswipe croaked, shooting upright. His little TV clattered away across the bottom of the thruster before sliding back down against his pedes.

“Oh, yeah. Sparkling's red, which kinda takes the fun out of betting. I mean, it's not like there are a lot of red Cons. You okay?”

No, Sideswipe wasn't okay. He had been telling himself this whole time that it was impossibly—that one barely-remembered night of living out his secret fantasies with a seeker who was too overcharged to say no and rarely did anyway was hardly the foundation for a new life—but Sunstreaker was right. There weren't a lot of red Decepticons, and there was still a question as to whether or not they had even 'faced Skywarp to begin with.

Sideswipe _had_ 'faced Skywarp. About nine months ago. And he was red.

The Lamborghini forced out a laugh that was probably just a little too loud.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just... realized that pretty much leaves a couple of the Stunticons,” he said.

“Right? Of course, there's always the off-chance of recessive coding. Or, who knows? Maybe it's some freak case of mixed coding. He gets around enough,” Sunstreaker mused. “Honestly, it's like getting the guy overcharged and blowing a load in him is some Decepticon rite of passage. I'd almost feel bad for him if he weren't such a Con.”

A memory flashed through Sideswipe's processor: purple thrusters digging into his back while a desperately breathless voice whined at him to go faster...

“I get the feeling he doesn't mind,” he told his twin.

“Yeah, well... just promise me you won't go losing anymore money over it,” Sunstreaker warned.

“Don't worry,” his brother snorted. “I'll just focus on my bet for how long until Screamer's walking around with Megatron-shaped dents in his face again.”

“Mm. I lost that one months ago,” the other Lamborghini sighed. “Well, enjoy your show.”

The line disconnected and Sideswipe was once again alone in his hideaway. He swallowed, gaze fixed unseeingly on the opposite wall.

It couldn't be... could it? Skywarp slept around so much he'd assured himself it wasn't a risk, but...

His processor drifted again to the incriminating evening: wandering outside the base to clear his overcharged helm with a bit of cool air, coming across the purple seeker in a similar state, finding themselves too overcharged to fight and laughing about it, complaining about the war, complaining about how long it had been since he'd had a good 'face... And Skywarp had offered. He _had_. Sideswipe was sure of that much at least. The seeker had turned to him with that mischievous grin of his and flat out asked if he wanted to find out what a _really_ good 'face felt like.

And it _was_ a good 'face. Sideswipe had been self-servicing to guilty memories of fluttering wings, the smoothness of a seeker's cockpit, and a perfectly tight valve ringed in elegant, purple biolights ever since.

But based on Skywarp's behavior at the time and during the couple of occasions on which they'd crossed paths before the seeker had been taken off duty, Sideswipe was pretty certain his illicit fling had been too overcharged to remember the encounter even happened. It was nothing to either of them—just a well-deserved night of guilty pleasure. Something like that couldn't have resulted in this, could it?

 _Could_ it?

He reached down and picked up the TV again with a trembling servo. In the last few minutes, Katy had somehow ended up on the ground bleeding while Donna and Gordon both cried over her. The gun lay smoking between them, and Sideswipe had no idea who had fired it.

 


	3. Wear and Tear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to put this one up now so I don't get revision-obsessed with it. P:

One of the greatest mysteries of having a newspark was where all the fuel went. Skywarp had to feed Nubby (his son's new temporary name) around once every two hours, and while a good amount of it tended to come right back up again, it still seemed like he took in far more than his tiny body could possibly store.

In order to keep up with him, Skywarp had to consume even more fuel than he had when he was carrying, both to fill his nursing reservoir and to power the auxiliary systems that filtered and pumped it into the reservoir in the first place. The reservoir, he remembered from a diagram in one of Soundwave's datapads, was right near his warp drive, which explained why he'd started getting increasingly uncomfortable aches there whenever it was just about time to feed his son. Still, creator-filtered energon was important for healthy newspark development, and Skywarp was determined his newspark would be the healthiest.

It did mean that even willing parties, like Thundercracker, couldn't help the new creator with his seekerling's fuel demands, though, and Skywarp hadn't recharged for more than an hour at a time ever since giving birth. Not that he thought much of that. As a seasoned soldier, Skywarp was used to getting his recharge whenever he could.

Today, that ended up being about two seconds after Nubby had latched onto his feeding cable. Skywarp didn't even remember drifting off, but one moment he was leaning his helm back with a sigh of relief at the decreased pressure in his upper abdomen, and the next he was jolting awake to the sound of the door chime.

“Wha... Who... Just a second!” he spluttered, and Nubby started to howl as the fuel he'd been enjoying was jerked rudely out of his grasp.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Skywarp fussed. “No, don't... Please, don't cry! I'll be right back!” He settled his son on the chair and stuffed the feeding tube back into its little port as he stumbled his way across the room, which was littered with a growing number of makeshift sparkling toys.

Before he could reach the doors, they whooshed open on their own to reveal none other than Megatron's imposing frame. Skywarp caught himself halfway through tripping over a stuffed cyberbear and blinked stupidly up at his commander. The other mech blinked back at him, looking unsure whether to be concerned or amused at the scene he had just walked into.

“Uh... Starscream's not here, sir,” Skywarp told him after a long, awkward pause.

“Why would I be looking for _him?_ ” the warlord demanded, face darkening for a moment. Skywarp couldn't quite stop his wings from flaring in response. Megatron's mood passed seconds later, though, and he cleared his throat with an apologetic cough. “I came to check in on the newest member of our faction,” he explained.

“Oh! Of course! Come in, sir.” Now Skywarp thought about it, Megatron hadn't seen his son since the delivery room, and of course he would want to. Nubby and his little red wing nubs were of great potential value to the future of the Decepticons, after all.

He forced his wings to relax and led the way over to the chair where he'd left the wailing newspark. Megatron hummed thoughtfully as Skywarp scooped Nubby up and started making shushing noises.

“What are you calling him?” the warlord wanted to know.

“I... haven't picked a designation yet,” Skywarp confessed. “Everything I think of just doesn't feel right.”

“You've done well, Skywarp,” Megatron told him, looking the seekerling over from helm to pede. “He's a handsome little mech.”

“Thank you, sir!” the seeker beamed, his wings flaring up with pride now. Those were treasured words he'd heard from his commander precious few times in the past.

“May I?” Megatron asked, extending his own servos toward the sparkling.

Skywarp hesitated; it wasn't that he didn't trust his commander so much as that Megatron was just so... _big_.

The warlord apparently noticed his hesitation. “I _have_ held sparklings before,” he said with an amused quirk of his lips.

“No, of course!” Skywarp said quickly. “I just... He doesn't really like when strangers hold him, so... Here.”

Megatron received the screaming ball of armor with all the care that an old miner's servos could manage after four million years of war.

“Well, hello there,” he cooed, and Skywarp felt his optics go wide at the simpering tone. “You'll be loyal like your creator when you grow up, now won't you? Not like that infernal trinemate of his, right? Of course you are. Just look at you!”

Nubby continued to wail and squirm, and Skywarp fought back the instinct to snatch him back as the warlord unwrapped more of the already disheveled insulation sheet to see the sparkling better.

“Very much a seeker, isn't he?” he commented, brushing a careful digit over the rounded swell of the newspark's cockpit.

“Yes, sir,” Skywarp acknowledged.

“Now, little one,” Megatron addressed the sparkling again, starting to rock him a bit in a clumsy attempt at soothing. “What is there to cry about when you're a member of the proudest force in the galaxy, hm?”

“He... probably has air bubbles in his fuel tank, sir,” Skywarp explained, wringing his servos together slightly. “If you'll just give him here, I can...”

“Ah, a bit of indigestion, is it?” the warlord chuckled, turning the sparkling upright and bringing him to optic level. “It troubles me sometimes, these days, but don't tell Starscream.”

“Sir, he's going to...” Skywarp's digits twitched reflexively as creator instincts started trying to overcome his own self-preservation.

Megatron looked up, optic ridges raised in question, just as Nubby hiccuped and spewed watery vomit all down his front. Skywarp's own tanks clenched in horror as the old warlord's face froze.

“Ah. I see,” he commented flatly, looking down at the pink mess splashed over his armor.

“I'm so sorry, sir!” Skywarp wailed, finally taking his son back from his leader's unrelenting servos.

“No, I should have seen that coming,” Megatron conceded. “I don't suppose you have a cloth?”

Skywarp scrambled to pull one out of his subspace.

“I had forgotten just how messy newsparks can be,” the warlord remarked as he took the proffered cloth and started wiping himself down. “I shall have to be more careful in the future if I hope to prove myself.”

“Not at all, sir,” Skywarp assured him hastily as he cradled a considerably calmer Nubby up against his cockpit. “You're an excellent warlord.”

“Yes, and a warlord needs an heir or two, don't you think?”

He said it so casually that it took Skywarp a moment to register the implication of the words.

“Wait, you... Starscream would be a _terrible_ creator!' he blurted before he could stop himself.

To his relief, Megatron just laughed.

“Wouldn't he just... Well, good luck with your son, Skywarp. I hope we can find a sire to assist you soon.”

Skywarp nodded mutely as Megatron passed him and left the room. He couldn't really be thinking... The purple seeker shuddered at the thought. No wonder Starscream had been avoiding him lately!

 

* * *

 

It was going to take a while to test every single Decepticon's coding, what with people being out on patrols or needing an officer to strongarm them into the medbay, and Starscream was perfectly content with that. For one thing, it meant that he had all the longer to avoid having to apologize to Megatron for accusing him of being the sire. For another, as long as the newspark didn't have a confirmed sire, he didn't have to share it with anyone except his trine.

Starscream would never admit it in a billion years, but he was getting quite attached to the little stinker. Nubby was a mastermind of getting whatever he wanted without even using words, and had everyone on board the _Nemesis_ wrapped around his tiny digits; Starscream could respect a mech like that. Furthermore, the newspark liked Starscream, and Starscream could respect a mech like _that_ even more.

It was a pleasant surprise when he came back to his trine quarters after a long day of patrols to find that Skywarp had fallen asleep spread eagle on the floor with Nubby lying beside him making small fussing noises. Well. Starscream couldn't leave the little thing fussing, now could he?

“Hey, there,” the seeker cooed, trying to imitate Skywarp's more indulgent tones as he scooped Nubby into his servos. The newspark grunted and flopped as newsparks do, and Starscream had a moment of panic before he managed to get him nestled into the crook of his elbow.

Nubby stared up at him blankly, and Starscream smiled with satisfaction that his fussing had stopped.

“You do have good taste in 'bots, don't you?” he murmured, stepping over Skywarp's incumbent form to go sit on the couch. His trinemate mumbled something in his recharge. Starscream watched him for a moment before turning back to the seekerling he'd settled in his lap.

“We do need to do something about your name,” he told the the newspark. “'Nubby' is alright as pet names go, but it's hardly an acceptable name for a Decepticon warrior, or for anyone related to me, now is it?”

Nubby waved an arm, which Starscream took as invitation to continue.

“I wouldn't mind you being named after me if everyone weren't making such ridiculous claims about our relationship. We wouldn't want to give them the wrong idea, if you know what I mean. But perhaps once this whole thing has blown over... What do you say about the name Starfire?”

Nubby opened his denta-less mouth in some kind of noiseless cry and kicked his pedes.

“Yes, it's a good one, isn't it? The perfect marriage of elegance and ferocity; just like a seeker. I picked it out a while ago...” Starscream trailed off, brushing tapered digits over the sparkling's crimson chassis and light gray stomach. Nubby made a breathy gasping noise, almost like a laugh, and squirmed a bit.

“Ticklish?” Starscream guessed, his face splitting into a smile. “You really do take after Warp.”

He settled back against the couch, fluttering his wings a bit as they sank into the plush surface before finding a comfortable position for them, and pulled his thrusters up onto the edge of the cushion so that Nubby was sitting upright, propped against his thighs.

“Now,” the adult seeker began, “let me tell you a few things about your creator. He's an idiot, and he always lags a bit on formations, but he's a good one. Obviously, or I wouldn't have chosen him to be my trinemate.”

It really was great how newsparks would just lie there and listen to anything without complaint, Starscream reflected as Nubby's wide optics reset several times and stayed focused on his.

“There was this one time when we were storming an Autobot outpost together near Crystal City,” he continued, “and it was Prowl commanding the enemy forces—you'll find out who Prowl is soon enough. Anyway, that bastard had set up a blockade of anti-air support rifles, and there was no way for us to get through. They'd downed about fifty of our squadron and they even managed to clip T.C.'s wing, so your creator and I were down on the ground with him (luckily, he didn't go down too hard, but it still wasn't pretty).”

Nubby brought a balled servo up to his mouth and started to suck on it, still staring hard at the adult seeker. Starscream gave one of the sparkling's well-insulated thighs a fond squeeze before continuing.

“So, I was pretty upset—you're not going to repeat this story to anyone, right? good—I was pretty upset because I was sure that Megatron was going to pull my arm off if we went back without completing our objective. (He used to do that kind of thing back then, but don't worry. He's mellowed out a lot in his old age.) So, there I was freaking out and trying to get a clamp on one of T.C.'s main lines, and your creator just turns to me and says, 'Hey, Star. I've got the perfect idea for how to get out of this.'

“And of course, I was all, 'Shut up, Skywarp! Nobody cares about your stupid plans right now!'

“But Skywarp, you know, he's too stupid to ever really feel insulted, so he just calmly reaches out and grabs the can of styptic spray out of our med pack with this mischievous smile on his face and says, 'This stuff gets harder than steel, right?'

Starscream glanced over at Skywarp's sleeping face a little ways away and laughed lightly at the memory of his own poleaxed surprise as he'd realized what his trinemate was getting on about that night.

“Of course, we still had to get close enough to the guns to spray the stuff on them,” he continued his story, “but you know, people never do bother watching for ground soldiers when they think they're being attacked by a squadron of seekers.

“Prowl's stupid face when they tried to aim their rifles and all of them stuck was the best. That's what you get for using fully automated defense systems. Although... Megatron's face when we got back and told him we'd won was pretty good too.”

Starscream heaved a nostalgic sigh and glanced down at Nubby again. The newspark was still staring up at him with wide, his mouth hanging open as if he hadn't realized that his servo hadn't fallen out.

“He just doesn't understand, you know—Megatron, that is,” the seeker muttered, pulling a polishing cloth from his subspace to wipe drool from the newspark's chin and servo. “It's alright for _Skywarp_ ; he's always had a soft spark, but what in the pit does Megatron think _he's_ going to do with...” He trailed off with another sigh and let his helm flop over onto the back of the couch, intent to just enjoy the feel of the warm, little body in his lap for a while.

He had just settled when suddenly Nubby twitched with a noise that was unmistakably a tiny sneeze. Starscream sat up and looked down at him. The newspark stared back with wide, uncertain optics for a second, and then his face started to screw up.

“Oh, come on; it was just a sneeze!” Starscream told him, simultaneously overcome with the adorableness of a newspark's sneeze and frustrated that something so small had set him off.

No sooner had the first wail escaped Nubby's vocalizer than Skywarp was snorting awake.

“Hm, wha..? Where's my sparkling!?” The purple seeker flailed around in such a panic that Starscream almost laughed.

“He's right here, idiot,” he said, holding the wailing ball of armor out to its creator.

Skywarp scrambled across the room and snatched him back.

“What'd you do to him?” he demanded, shooting a dirty look over a shoulder at his trine leader.

“Nothing!” Starscream protested, firing resentment through their bond at the fact that Skywarp would even think him capable of something so vile as intentionally making their trine's newspark cry. “He sneezed and scared himself.”

“He what?” Skywarp looked between Starscream and the seekerling in his arms, who was starting to calm down in the presence of his creator's familiar energy. “He _sneezed_ and I _missed it!?_ It must have been so adorable!!”

“Yes, well... Some of us have things to do besides revel in the potential adorability of sparklings,” Starscream sniffed, brushing some imagined dust from his armor and starting for the door.

Skywarp frowned, clearly scanning his internal chronometer.

“You just got off patrol, didn't you?' he asked, shuffling Nubby up farther on his shoulder. “Can't you hang out with us for a bit? I haven't had anyone to talk to all day.”

“And... you want to talk to _me?_ ” Starscream reset his optics, trying to make sense of the idea. For whatever reason, Skywarp was one of the three people in the universe who actually _liked_ him, but it had been a while since his trinemates had actively sought out his company rather than simply tolerating it when they had it.

“Of course I wanna talk to you!” the purple seeker said, as though this was a daily occurrence.

Starscream's optical ridges went up as a tendril of connection tugged on his spark. He genuinely _wanted_ to stay, but...

“We're making preparations for a raid,” he told Skywarp. “I have to be there or those idiots will cut every single corner and we'll come up short on amunition tomorrow.”

The other seeker's optics dropped slightly. “Oh.”

“I mean, if we didn't need fuel so badly...”

“No, I understand,” Skywarp assured him, looking up with his customary smile back in place. “We'll see you later, then?”

“Probably,” Starscream hated to admit. Unless he ended up recharging in his lab again, he would be climbing into one or the other of his trinemates' berths again tonight.

 

* * *

  
  


Skywarp had the greatest of respect for Soundwave—no one else in either faction could do even half the things that Soundwave handled on a daily basis—but that didn’t mean that he _liked_ the communications officer or had ever even carried out a conversation with him that consisted of more than receiving orders, clarifying orders, and getting in trouble for not properly fulfilling said orders anyway. That had changed since Nubby’s arrival.

Every time Skywarp ran into Soundwave now, the older mech would somehow manage to prise his son from his servos and start spewing advice about how the seeker could be a better creator. It wasn’t the advice that Skywarp resented so much as how Soundwave always managed to deliver it in some way that made it clear he thought that there was some kind of flaw in the young mech’s own creator protocols.

“Newsparks; require regular washing and polishing,” the TiC was explaining today. “Failure to maintain; sure cause of disease.”

“I _do_ wash him! I just washed him this morning!” Skywarp protested, trying without success to reclaim his son from the cassette player’s overly hygienic clutches.

He really couldn't deal with this today. It was getting harder and harder not to drop offline the second he sat down anywhere, Nubby had been fussier than usual the last two days, and his reservoir had been agonizingly full for the last two hours, but Nubby _would not eat_. The seeker had thought he'd take a turn around the base to distract himself from the pain and the increasingly urgent error messages about his backed up filtration system.

“Experience; insufficient,” Soundwave told him. “Neglected areas; abundant.”

He then produced a polishing rag from his subspace and began wiping at the delicate seams of the squirming seekerling’s armor. Nubby’s optics widened in alarm and then screwed shut as he started to scream. That was enough.

“I can do it myself, you self-important sound system!” Skywarp snarled, kicking the larger mech's shin with all his force. The impact sent a shudder up his frame that rattled his already delicate internal workings, and he gave a cry of pain.

Soundwave gave him his most withering non-expression.

“I mean… Just… Give him back, please?” And then, to Skywarp’s horror, he felt tears starting to well up in his optics. “I’m not crying! I’m not; I swear! I just…”

“Exhaustion and frequent crying spells; common in new creators,” Soundwave intoned, handing the sparkling back to him at last. “Upsetting Skywarp; not Soundwave’s intention. Sparkling’s hygiene; genuine concern.”

“Yeah, well, _you_ try keeping him clean when he throws up on himself every five minutes and won’t stop squirming and cries when you try to adjust his plating and you can't move right because your stupid nursing resrvoir feels like it's about to explode!” Skywarp got out in a teary, quavery rush.

Soundwave regarded him critically for a moment, and then: “Filtration system; experiencing back-ups?”

“It _hurts_ , but he won't _eat!_ ” the seeker wailed in stereo with his sparkling.

“Solution; siphon excess fuel and store for later use.”

Skywarp blinked up at him, still fighting tears. “Y...you can d-do that?” he hiccuped.

“Excess fuel production; common in seekers. Intended for trinemates' use when assisting creators.”

“What?” This was the first Skywarp had heard of it, and he'd been a seeker his whole life! Not that he'd ever bothered learning much about sparklings and creators until now.

“Suggestion; ask trinemates for assistance,” Soundwave told him. “Skywarp as sole caregiver; unnecessary and tiresome.”

“But they’re busy,” Skywarp sniffed. “Even if I had extra fuel for them to give Nubby, they can't sit up with him at night if they have morning meetings and patrols and stuff.”

“Further suggestion; ask Soundwave to rearrange their schedules.”

Skywarp’s optics widened, and his tears came to a full stop.

“I… _I can do that?_ ” he asked in an awed whisper.

“Healthy development of new seeker; top priority. Status of seeker race; tenuous.”

“Oh.” That made sense, now Skywarp thought of it. “You... Then... can you take T.C. off the schedule for a while?”

“Request; manageable,” Soundwave agreed. “Preference; remove Starscream from schedule as well?”

“Um... I don't think Megatron would like that,” the seeker pointed out, though he found himself strangely wanting to say yes. Starscream had been different since Nubby had come along in strange ways: more affectionate, less psychotic, maybe just the slightest bit less high strung. It was similar to the shift that had happened when he and Megatron's relationship had changed, but more subtle; he hadn't started prancing around the ship _whistling_ , for one.

“Time apart; beneficial to Megatron and Starscream's relationship,” Soundwave commented in what Skywarp suspected was a conspiratorial tone.

“Well.. when you put it that way...” Skywarp mused, rubbing thoughtful circles between Nubby's little namesake wing nubs as the sparkling also started to calm.

“Starscream and Thundercracker; removed from all active duty for three weeks,” Soundwave informed him. “Excepting emergencies and weekly logistics meetings. Advice to Skywarp; leave sparkling with trinemates and recharge.”

A surprised smile crept across Skywarp's face. Who knew that the seemingly emotionless communications officer had the potential to be one of his greatest allies this whole time?


	4. The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Spark

 

It had been over a week since the Decepticons had started their ship-wide search for the sire of Skywarp's sparkling, and Sideswipe had yet to hear any news on the matter. The processor-numbing tension that had consumed him for those first few days had faded to an occasional dull twinge of anxiety that even his twin hardly noticed. By the end of that next week, he had almost forgotten about his potential impending doom in the face of everything else going on.

The Autobot faction as a whole was taking advantage of the recent lull in Decepticon activity to get some “spring cleaning” done: they'd pulled all the furniture out of the Ark and brought it out onto their front lawn to hose it down; Prowl was overseeing the repainting of the walls, this time with a graffiti-proof paint; and Perceptor had managed to rope some of his comrades (mostly the Aerialbots) into helping him and Carly plant a garden by their front entrance with a selection of his favorite Earth plants.

The garden group and the furniture-moving group had quickly become bitter rivals.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had started in the furniture group, but got themselves relegated to painting some two hours into the first day when they ignored a wet paint sign and dragged a couch down the full length of one dripping wall. As a result, they now returned to their quarters every evening covered in splatters of paint that Sideswipe then had to spend two whole hours helping Sunstreaker scrub off himself before it could set completely (he himself was unconcerned with walking around splattered orange until he could get a fresh paint job).

He was scraping at a particularly stubborn spot on his brother’s back one evening when a message came through the faction-wide comms from Optimus himself that they were all to gather in the control room immediately.

The twins shared a questioning look along with a pulse of mutual confusion.

“Betcha Perceptor finally snapped and shoved a tree up Brawn's aft,” Sunstreaker guessed, and Sideswipe snickered at the mental image while they dried themselves off.

Most of the rest of the faction was already waiting in the control room when the two Lamborghinis arrived, including Brawn, who most certainly had no trees shoved up any part of his person. Sideswipe spotted Trailbreaker and Smokescreen muttering together near the back of the room and sidled over to the two of them.

“What's this all about, do you reckon?” he asked them, feeling Sunstreaker press close on his other side.

“All I know is Mirage came back from his latest mission, and Optimus called this meeting, like, ten minutes later,” Smokescreen shrugged.

“Maybe we'll have something to do again!” Sunstreaker guessed, his enthusiasm pulsing through his brother's spark.

“Another big power station raid?” Sideswipe guessed.

“Or they could be teaming up with some nasty humans again,” Trailbreaker put in. “That would be an all-servos-on-deck kind of situation.”

“Nah, Spike and Sparkplug would be here if it involved the humans that much,” Sunstreaker pointed out, and Sideswipe suddenly realized that their human allies were somewhat conspicuously missing from this meeting. So were Bumblebee and all of the Aerialbots.

“Maybe it's another one of Screamer's schemes, then,” Smokescreen mused. “He  _ has _ been fighting with Megadork again lately.”

A pulse of anxiety struck Sideswipe's spark then as he remembered  _ why _ the Decepticons' two top officers were currently spatting, which he quickly pushed aside when a wave of hush swept through the assembled Autobots. Optimus Prime had just entered the room, Prowl following close behind.

Sideswipe craned his neck to see their officers' progression as the crowd parted to let them through. Optimus took his place in front of Teletraan 1, and his SIC positioned himself just behind him. The Prime stood in silence for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the mechs before him, and Sideswipe felt his fuel tank lurch unpleasantly; the look of sheer  _ disappointment _ on their Prime's face was one that surpassed even the time he and Sunstreaker had covered Red Alert's berth in hull sealant. Nervous curiosity fluttered against his spark from his twin, and the red Lamborghini sent a similar sentiment back.

“Autobots,” Optimus's deep voice rang out through the room. “It has come to our attention that one among our number may have committed a grave mistake.”

_ ::Oh, slag! I pity that fool!:: _ Sideswipe laughed over their private comm, and Sunstreaker coughed to hide a snort of laughter.

“Now, I wish to make it clear that we are fully willing to listen to this mech's side of the story,” Optimus continued. “It is possible that there has been a fundamental misunderstanding, and we encourage this mech to feel no fear in coming to speak with any of the officers in private. We will offer no judgment until we have a full picture of things.”

Prowl's face certainly didn't look like he was planning on withholding any judgment.

“However,” and Optimus's voice turned even graver now, “if we find out who you are  _ before _ you come to us yourself—and we  _ will _ find out who you are—rest assured that you will receive a punishment fully befitting the worst of your crime.”

_ Ouch! _ Someone was in for a serious Prime smackdown!

The tension in the room was palpable as their leader let his words settle over the lot of them.

“I believe all of you are aware,” Optimus finally broke the silence, “that the Decepticon seeker Skywarp recently gave birth to a mechling.”

All at once, Sideswipe's vision went black and he felt as though the Earth had just fallen out from beneath him. The only things keeping him present enough to hear the Prime's next words were his twin's worried prodding and a servo on his arm.

“The Decepticons ran the newspark's coding against every single member of their faction, and all the results have come back negative.”

A wave of mutters broke out in the Autobot ranks, quickly rising in volume as all of them realized what was coming next. Most of them weren't stupid—they knew that there was only one other group of beings on the planet capable of reproducing with a seeker.

Sideswipe felt he was going to be ill. Coolant was beading out on his forehelm and the gyros in his knees were trembling like they'd been replaced with those jell-o jiggler treats he saw so many commercials for on the television. It couldn't be... He hadn't... He didn't mean to.

Someone was screaming in his audials, and he brought his servos up to cover them, only to realize that he was the one making the noise. Everyone in the room was staring at the Lamborghini as his voice petered out to a self-conscious whine.

He swallowed and turned his optics up to meet his Prime's

_ ::Sides, you  _ didn't! _ :: _ His twin's spark was a whirling ball of equal parts horror, concern, and betrayal.

“Sideswipe,” Optimus rumbled as, beside him, Prowl's optic ridges somehow managed to draw  _ even closer _ together. “Is there something you'd like to tell us?”

 

* * *

 

Skywarp had found himself victim to Soundwave's telepathy any number of times in the past; usually when the communications officer was probing for information on things like who had painted depressurized spikes all over the command center view screens. This, however, was the first time he had been perfectly willing to lay his mind bare to his superior's intrusions because  _ he had nothing to hide _ . Never, ever in his entire life had he so much as glanced at an Autobot's tailpipe!

Okay, so maybe he had once or twice, he conceded as Soundwave started pulling out several memory files involving him doing just that.

“ _ Everyone _ thinks Jazz has a nice aft!” the seeker protested, and he would have held his servos out defensively if they hadn't been restrained to the interrogation chair Megatron had sat him in at the beginning of this little session. “Even Starscream said it was hot one time!”

“I did not!” the Air Commander defended hastily, and Megatron gave him a disbelieving look.

“Quiet,” Soundwave ordered, and all three of them fell serious once more.

It had been nearly an hour now since Megatron had burst into their trine quarters, ordered Skywarp to leave his son with a trinemate, and dragged the purple seeker squealing down to the nearest interrogation room without the slightest bit of explanation. Starscream, who had been present at the time, had followed after, screeching all manner of invective at his commander and attempting to regain possession of his trinemate.

It had taken nearly 15 minutes after Megatron strapped Skywarp into the chair before they could figure what he was going on about, and another thirty or so after  _ that _ to convince him he should just call Soundwave down there to verify that Skywarp was telling the truth. It wasn't until Starscream had wedged himself between his lover and trinemate, reared up on the tips of his pedes—servos planted firmly on his hips and wings held high—and told Megatron that he would really, seriously never let the old gear-grinder touch him again if he didn't step away from his trinemate that instant that Megatron finally gave in. Skywarp hadn’t been able to see the other seeker's face from his position, but had been touched to hear in his voice that he  _ meant _ it.

“Results; concluded,” Soundwave now announced, stepping away from the captive seeker at last. “Skywarp; truthful. Memories of dalliances with Autobots; nonexistent.”

Megatron's optics went wide as the anger in his face changed to surprise. Beside him, Starscream scoffed—a noise of utter disgust—before stepping forward to start releasing Skywarp from his restraints. He was seething with a hurt-driven fury that was painfully apparent in their trine bond.

“But... then  _ how _ ?” Megatron spluttered.

Soundwave turned down to Skywarp again with something between pity and disappointment.

“Nonexistent memories; not proof that it never happened,” he said.

“Oh, Primus!” Skywarp gasped, newly-freed servo flying to his mouth and spark dropping as that blackout night after the Heart of Cybertron incident flashed through his processor.

Starscream's helm instantly snapped toward him. “Warp, you  _ didn't! _ ” he hissed.

“I don't remember!” Skywarp defended. “It's not like I'm the only one who charged himself off his rocker that night! It could have just as easily been  _ you _ who got sparked by an... by...”

He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought out loud, but it hung like a gruesome wound through his processor: sparked by an Autobot. An Autobot had sparked him, and he couldn't even remember which one. He couldn't remember  _ anything _ from that night. The memory files were just  _ gone _ .

He'd interfaced while blackout overcharged on other occasions, yes, but none of those times had left him with such lasting consequences. None of those times had affected his  _ son _ . His darling, beautiful son… infected with Autobot code… There was no way Megatron would let him stay now.

“I'm sorry!” Skywarp burst out, tears suddenly springing from his optics. “He… It’s not his f-fault! Lord M-m-megatron, please! It’s not his fault he’s a… an Autobot! P-please let me k-k-keep him! Please!”

The last of his restraints snapped off, and then he was being gathered up against a warm cockpit, a familiar helm nuzzling against him with a little whining noise while sharp digits dug into his armor in Starscream's best approximation of reassurance.

“Your son is  _ not _ an Autobot! And anyone who says otherwise will have to get through  _ me! _ ” the other seeker insisted, and Skywarp clung to him for dear life, his sobs echoing slightly in his trinemate's shoulder vents.

“Skywarp,” Megatron's voice had a note of impatience to it when he finally spoke up. “I never had intentions of separating you from your sparkling, whatever the situation.”

“Oh, sure!” Starscream snorted. “So, you when you threatened to lock him up in solitary confinement for the next two million years, you were planning to throw his newspark in with him? That's reassuring!”

“Starscream!'

“What!?”

“You aren't helping.”

Megatron was wrong there, though, Skywarp reflected, burrowing further into his trine leader's shoulder. The fiercely possessive fury that Starscream was radiating was doing wonders for his fears. It was always impossible to believe that anyone or anything could defy Starscream when he was like this.

“Now,” Megatron continued, his voice a low growl, “clearly one of those spurious Autobots saw the chance to get his servos on what wasn't his to touch when you were incapacitated that night, and you can rest assured I'll find out which one it was and have his spike thrown into the nearest volcano.”

Skywarp reset his optics and looked up, hiccuping slightly, to see the same possessive fury Starscream was exhibiting reflected back in his leader's optics.

“Soundwave! Look into it,” the warlord barked, and the communications officer nodded in understanding before swooping out of the room. “Let's get you back to your sparkling,” Megatron continued, patting one of Skywarp's shoulder vents. “I'm sure he's missing his creator; he has a good one.”

Skywarp sniffed, wiping tears from his optics, and let a small smile creep across his face. Maybe, just a little, he could see why Starscream had fallen so hard for their commander.

“Don't be fooled,” Starscream spoke up. “He just says stuff like that to make you forgive him when he knows he's fragged up.”

“That doesn't mean it's not true, does it, beautiful?” Megatron smirked, nudging his SIC under the chin.

Starscream made a noise of frustration and stalked out of the room, dragging Skywarp along behind him.

 

* * *

 

Sideswipe's own interrogation was not going so well. On the one servo, he did not have a furious ex-gladiator shouting nonsense at him. On the other, he  _ did _ have Prowl, and he lacked Skywarp’s significant advantage of a clear conscience.

“You disgust me,” Prowl declared, looking down his sharp nose at the young mech seated before him.

“I was overcharged!” Sideswipe protested, seizing onto one possible lifeline. “We were both overcharged, and  _ he _ was the one who came onto  _ me! _ You can't tell me you've never made a mistake when you were overcharged!” His optics flicked to Optimus, seated at his desk and thus far a silent observer in all this.

“I never  _ get _ overcharged,” the Autobot intelligence officer countered, and Sideswipe whipped back to him in surprise.

“What,  _ never? _ ” Granted, he’d never  _ personally _ seen Prowl drinking high grade, but…

“It opens the processor to needlessly muddled emotions and increases the chances of engaging in behaviors that one is liable to regret in the long run, such as  _ this _ ,” Prowl lectured.

“Okay, well... What else is a healthy young mech supposed to do to satisfy himself around here, huh?” Sideswipe tried for a new line of defense. “Not all of us were lucky enough to have our boyfriends on board the Ark when we left Cybertron!”

“Are you saying then that Optimus Prime is not a healthy mech, or that he has found equally irresponsible methods of satisfying himself here on Earth?” Prowl demanded, not even blinking at the boyfriend comment.

Sideswipe's processor stalled for a moment with the effort of not allowing any mental images of Optimus “satisfying” himself in irresponsible ways to taint it.

“Sideswipe,” Optimus finally spoke up. “Is that what Skywarp is to you? Your boyfriend?”

“ _ No _ !” the Lamborghini hastily assured him. “No, it was just the one time! I never thought... He's not my mate or my boyfriend or... We just made a sparkling together by accident! I don't even know what to call that!”

“I believe the human term 'baby mama' would be appropriate in this situation,” Optimus said, nodding sagely and steepling his digits in front of his face plate. 

Sideswipe reset his optics a couple of times, unsure how to react to that. He supposed it was true; he’d just never thought he'd hear those particular words leave Optimus Prime's vocalizer. Then again, he'd never thought that the obnoxious, teleporting seeker he'd tackled from so many treetops in the past would end up carrying his sparkling, either.

_ His  _ sparkling...

His fuel tank still lurched every time he thought of it. Today was shaping up to be a very strange day.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Sideswipe mumbled, hanging his helm. “I messed up.”

“Yes, you did,” Optimus agreed. “You are supposed to be helping us to  _ decrease _ the number of Decepticons on this planet, not give them fresh recruits.”

Prowl huffed in agreement and moved to lean against the edge of his commander’s desk, arms folded judgmentally.

“Of course, we will have to find some way to verify once and for all that the sparkling really is Sideswipe's,” the Prime mused. “Although, I see no reason to doubt it as the logical conclusion under the circumstances.”

“So, what happens if it is mine?” Sideswipe asked nervously.

“Obviously, if it truly is your sparkling, then we shall have to bring him home,” Optimus declared. “We cannot leave one of our own in enemy servos, can we? Especially not one so young and impressionable.”

Sideswipe felt his jaw drop, and Prowl slipped sideways off the desk. They had followed Optimus into an awful lot of deadly situations in the past: insane charges against unfathomable enemy numbers, assaults on heavily armed fortresses, boarding the Ark... But this was a whole new level of crazy. There was  _ no way _ on Earth  _ or _ Cybertron that Sideswipe was going to steal a sparkling from a seeker!  _ Especially _ not one trined to  _ Megatron's boyfriend! _

If the poleaxed expression on Prowl’s face was anything to go by, then he was with Sideswipe on this one, but Optimus was just smiling benignly across the desk as if he had offered the Lamborghini a free ticket to Cyberutopia.

“Don't worry,” he assured his subordinate. “Your son will be yours soon enough.”

Sideswipe forced a smile back, wondering how tall a cliff he would have to drive off to get himself out of this situation.


	5. Paradise Lost

Now that the Decepticons as a whole had been absolved the responsibility of helping Skywarp care for his sparkling, they suddenly all seemed overly eager to do just that. He couldn't go anywhere on the ship without some newspark hungry conehead or triple changer running over and offering to take Nubby off his servos for a minute or two.

“Frag off, Ramjet!” Starscream screeched at the latest hopeful. “No one's gonna trust  _ you _ with a newspark!”

“No one would've trusted Warp with one a few months ago,” Thundercracker pointed out from his trinemate's other side.

“But—” Ramjet tried.

“I don't want everyone touching my newspark,” Skywarp interrupted, holding the squirming seekerling tighter against his chassis. Nubby had been doing a lot more of that lately—squirming. Once or twice, Skywarp had almost dropped him because of it, and he was only a month old. How much harder would he be to keep hold of in a few more months?

“Yeah,” Starscream was saying now, turning up his nose at the conehead. “If you all drag your filthy servos all over him, he'll get  _ diseased _ for sure. If you want a sparkling to play with, make one yourself. This one's ours!”

“Please don't,” Thundercracker put in.

“But... you let Blitzwing hold him the other day!” Ramjet protested.

“Blitzwing gave me a two-month supply of polishing rags,” Skywarp sniffed.

“ _ And  _ he stepped through the sanitizer first,” his trine leader put in. “Now scram!”

Ramjet made a face, but couldn't quite withstand the combined weight of a full seeker trine's hostility.

“Honestly,” Starscream scoffed when the other flier was out of audial range again. “Who do these simpletons think they all are, trying to get their servos on  _ our _ newspark?”

“He's not yours, Star,” Thundercracker rumbled, his voice tinged with amusement. “Though I've heard through the data cloud that you could have one of your own in the near future if you wanted.”

“Lies!” Starscream hissed. “Slanderous lies, the lot of them!”

“Oh?” Thundercracker hummed, turning to Skywarp. “Is that so?”

“What have you heard?” Starscream demanded, rounding on his purple trinemate.

“Nothing!” Skywarp protested hastily. “Just... the other day, Megatron said something about needing to prove himself because a warlord needs heirs, and...”

Starscream started hissing hysterically and slapped a servo over Skywarp's mouth. Thundercracker burst out laughing.

“Is  _ that _ what you've been fighting about?” he wanted to know. “Star, you should've known this would happen when you decided to take up with an old-fashioned tyrant like Megatron. That's the sort of thing that can be a real deal breaker for most couples.”

“You think I don't know that!?” Starscream spat, and there was a pulse of something like fear that ran through their bond for a moment.

“Oh, Star, Megatron's not gonna leave you just because you don't wanna be a creator,” Skywarp reassured, trying to pat his trine leader on the wing and not drop his squirming newspark at the same time.

“What makes you so sure?” the other seeker demanded, shrugging him off.

“Well, I think it's unlikely he'd put up with your charming personality for so long and still be under any delusion that you're in any way suited to being one,” Thundercracker reasoned. “If not having sparklings with you really was a deal breaker, he would've left you ages ago.”

“You clearly don't know him half so well as I do. Our leader is nothing if not heavily delusional,” the tri-colored seeker snorted.

“Well, then you're just going to have to decide which is more important to you: being with Megatron or not having sparklings.”

“It's not that simple!” Starscream shrieked, stamping a pede. “You don't know  _ anything! _ ”

Nubby started at this outburst, and his face screwed up in preparation for a session of wailing.

“Sta-aarr!” Skywarp whined.

Starscream looked to the sparkling fussing on his trinemate's shoulder with a strangely pained expression before flaring his nostrils and storming away.

“You know,” Skywarp commented as he tried to comfort his son's tears away. “I don't think Starscream  _ would _ be such a terrible creator. He does alright helping out with Nubby.”

“Yeah, but imagine him with a youngling,” Thundercracker pointed out. “They'd end up killing each other.”

“Hmm... I see your point,” Skywarp conceded, and a small knot of apprehension twisted his insides. What was  _ he _ going to do when his son was a youngling? He quickly pushed the thought aside. It would be an awful long time before he had to worry about that.

“Hey,” he said, turning to his trinemate. “You wanna help me give Nubby a bath?”

Thundercracker hesitated a moment.

“Oh, come on. I got you three whole weeks off for this guy,” Skywarp reminded him. “And you know you wanna watch him splash around in the tub.”

A small smile split the blue seeker's face.

“Alright,” he conceded, reaching out to pinch one of Nubby's meshy little cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was originally planning to stomp his way back to their trine quarters, but quickly realized that this would just put him right back in the company of the two mechs he was stomping away from in the first place. He chose instead to head for the officers' lounge, which he was normally the only officer to use. So, it was a bit of a letdown when the doors slid open to reveal Soundwave sitting on the couch while Megatron paced up and down in front of him, in the middle of one of his rants.

The seeker huffed in irritation and was about to leave when he caught the tail end of what the warlord was saying.

“...thinks he can talk to  _ me _ about war crimes when his soldiers are running around  _ raping my seekers! _ ”

Starscream stopped in the doorway, and there was a strange tingling that started to spread through his limbs.

“Rape; unconfirmed,” Soundwave put in.

“I may not be from as polite of society as most of those Autobots, but I at least know that 'facing someone too overcharged to say 'no' isn't exactly...  _ apropos, _ ” Megatron growled. “And you know, Skywarp was right—it could have just as easily been Starscream! We'll need to be more careful from now on. Find some way to keep him safe from those savages...”

“You will do no such thing!” Starscream shrieked, and Megatron whipped around, only just noticing his presence. Starscream hissed and charged toward him. “I am a fully-fledged warrior, your Air Commander,  _ and _ your second-in-command! I do  _ not _ need to be protected from Autobot scum like some helpless youngling!”

“Star, that's not—” Megatron tried, reaching a servo for him, but the seeker just knocked it aside.

“ _ Don't _ call me 'Star!'' he snarled. “Not while you're plotting to lock me away in some crystal tower! You  _ always _ think you know what's best for me, don't you!? You don't know  _ anything _ about me!”

“Starscream, please—”

“And you're not going to go around making Warp out to be some kind of helpless victim in all this, either!” Starscream continued. “He's upset enough thinking his son is going to grow up shamed for his parentage without people spreading rumors that he was... was...  _ violated _ by enemy soldiers! And if you want to talk about  _ apropros _ , who was it that waited until I was an overcharged mess before making his first move on me, huh!? You sick, old—”

“ENOUGH!” Megatron's voice boomed through his second's words, and Starscream instantly shrank back from him, optics wide and spark jumping slightly.

There was a moment of painful silence, during which Starscream could see the regret blooming in his commander's optics.

“I didn't mean to shout,” Megatron said, taking a careful step back from the seeker.

Starscream tried to force his wings and plating to relax, pointedly not making optic contact with his leader. Megatron made a tentative motion with his servo as if he'd been thinking of pulling the seeker closer to him, but changed his mind halfway and rubbed it tiredly across his faceplates instead.

“Can we talk, Starscream? Please?” he sighed.

The seeker shrugged, still not looking at him.

“Soundwave?” Megatron called.

The intelligence officer, who had been trying to make himself as small as possible in the corner of the couch, hastily got to his pedes and fair fled the room. Once the door had shut behind him, Megatron sank down onto the now-vacant couch. It groaned slightly under his weight.

“Starscream,” he sighed after a moment. “Is that really how you feel about the start of our relationship?”

The seeker stiffened again and folded his arms across his cockpit.

“No,” he muttered. “I mean... I would have said yes either way, but...” He didn't want to talk about this, but at least it was a distraction from their more common conversations of late. “It's not the point.”

“Then what  _ is _ the point?”

“You can't lock me up in here just because of your paranoia!” Starscream snapped. “No Autobot has ever tried to accost me before, and I doubt they're going to start trying! You honestly think any of them would have the bearings to lay a servo on  _ your mate? _ ”

“Is that what you are, then?” Megatron wanted to know.

“I...” Starscream's vocalizer stalled. The closest they'd ever come to having an actual conversation about what they were to each other was the rather unfortunate moment a few weeks ago when Megatron had suddenly asked Starscream to bear a sparkling for him, and yet the word 'mate' had slipped out of his mouth without a second thought.

“Starscream?” The old warlord's optics softened with an unbearable longing as he reached a servo out for him. “I miss you.”

Something caught in the seeker's throat as he stared at the worn, black servo. He wanted so badly to take it; to let his commander soothe away all his worries and frustrations like no one else ever had. But if he did, how far would it go? How long until Megatron started asking him questions that he couldn't answer again?

But if he didn't...

Starscream reached out and slipped his own slender, sky blue servo into the ex-miner's. Megatron smiled and tugged him forward. The seeker went, allowing himself to fall sideways across the larger mech's lap. Powerful arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close, and he leaned into the big, gray chassis.

“I won't lock you up,” Megatron murmured against his helm. “I could never. You're too beautiful when you're free.”

Starscream nestled into him, content with this answer.

“But that isn't really what this is about, is it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the seeker lied, stiffening.

“If you don't want a sparkling...”

“We're not talking about this.” Starscream started trying to work himself out of his commander's grasp.

“I'm just saying that I can understand,” Megatron finished patiently, holding him firmly in place. “We're living in an increasingly rundown old warship at the bottom of the ocean on an alien planet in the middle of a war. It was selfish of me to think of bringing a sparkling into this situation.”

Starscream swallowed hard. So  _ that's _ what he thought the problem was?

“Yes, it was,” he agreed anyway.

Megatron sighed and pressed a kiss to the seeker's shoulder. “Maybe it's about time we find a way to end this.”

“ _...what? _ ” Starscream honestly wasn't sure he'd heard that correctly.

“Don't you ever get tired of the fighting, Starscream?” his commander asked. “It's all we've had for so long...”

“I happen to like fighting,” the seeker said quickly. “I thought you did, too.”

“Well, I do, but... it's not the  _ only _ thing I like,” Megatron shrugged, stroking a servo up and down the smooth metal of his second's thigh.

Starscream snorted. “Are you saying you want to end the war so you have more time to 'face me?”

“Mmm...” the warlord hummed happily as he nuzzled into the seeker's neck cables.

“ _ Megatron! _ ” Starscream gasped, shoving at him, because he honestly wouldn't put it past him to be serious.

His commander gave one of his wings a playful squeeze before pulling back, amusement crinkling his battleworn features. “As pleasant as that would be, no. I was thinking of a more political objective. We started this war so that warframes could be something other than warframes, but... now that's all anyone is. I've been thinking a lot lately, and maybe it's time we tried something other than war.”

Starscream felt as if his spark had frozen in his chest. Megatron couldn't seriously be suggesting what he suspected.

“You're never changing any of that without defeating Prime first,” he said, his voice strangely quiet. “Not for  _ us _ , at least.”

“Prime is... frustrating,” Megatron conceded. “But not completely unreasonable. Wouldn't you like to be a scientist again, Starscream?”

And Starscream didn't know what to say to that because oh, did he ever! He could have a lab again—a  _ real _ lab where organic particles didn't keep getting into his experiments and ruining them—with equipment that was good for more than just weapons development. He could travel again, make discoveries, research,  _ see things other than battlefields! _

Or he could have, if it weren't for one problem.

“Star, I've seen how you still light up whenever you talk about your old research projects,” Megatron spoke up again when the seeker just continued to chew his lower lip. “You were built for battlefields, and a part of you will always love them, but it's not what your spark truly wants, is it?”

What his spark truly wanted...

“You'd be executed for war crimes if we ever made peace,” Starscream pointed out.

“Not necessarily.”

“You might!”

“I  _ won't. _ ”

“What do you  _ think _ would happen, then?” Starscream demanded, twisting around to face him. “Don't tell me you're still harboring some fantasy of Optimus letting you rule the planet with him! We might technically have control of Cybertron, but the Autobots have had the upperhand in this war since we crashed on this slagheap of a planet! They outnumber us almost three to one! The only reason Elita One isn't using my wings to decorate her throne right now is because her mate is determined to do everything The Right Way, which means winning the war, putting us on trial, and having us publicly executed!”

Megatron seemed to consider this. “They might settle for banishment if we made the right arguments,” he said finally. “We could go away together. As soon as peace negotiations are done; you and me and some empty planet somewhere that you can study and explore to your spark's content. We won't tell anyone but your trine where we've gone.”

“If Skywarp knows where we are, then the rest of the galaxy will,” Starscream snorted. “Anyway, where would I get my polishes from in this fantasy of yours?”

“Not sure where you get them from now,” the other mech muttered.

“We can't just run away, Megs,” Starscream sighed. “Nothing will truly change unless you're there to guide it, and you know it. You would keep knowing it, and...”

“And what?” Megatron wanted to know.

_ And I wouldn't be enough for you _ , Starscream finished in his thoughts. He swallowed hard and glanced down at his servos, folded in his lap. There was no way that Megatron would ever be satisfied with him— _ just  _ him. No war, no politics, no fixing Cybertron, no putting Optimus in his place.... and no sparklings.

“Starscream...” Megatron whispered his designation low and careful, like it was a precious gem that would tarnish if he spoke it too loudly, as he cupped the smaller mech's face and turned it toward his. Starscream let him, and the old warlord's lips closed over his in a kiss that was slow but firm and full of all the tender want he'd never expected such a fearsome mech to possess.

But there were some things that kisses couldn't fix.

Starscream broke away as he felt tears sting his optics, tilting his helm so that Megatron couldn't see.

“Star?” Megatron made to pull him back, but the seeker pushed him away.

“I have to go,” he lied, extricating himself from his leader's clutches and jumping back to his pedes. A large servo closed around his wrist before he could make it more than a few steps.

Silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity before Starscream pulled free. There was no resistance.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp liked watching his trinemates with his son. There was a distinct sense of rightness that he got from seeing Starscream's awkwardly earnest affections of Thundercracker's more quiet, steady care and the joyful pulses they sent through their bonds. He could watch Thundercracker coo at Nubby while he carefully wiped solvent along the sensitive creases of the newspark's armor all day.

The seekerling was more accepting of being lain in the warm liquid now than he had been a few weeks ago. At the moment, he was reclined back, his helm supported by Thundercracker's strong servo and staring open-mouthed at the cloth that was polishing the smooth, thin armor of his legs. The blue seeker cooed some nonsense, and the newspark's optics flicked up to him.

Skywarp folded his arms on the edge of the tub and leaned his helm over onto his elbows, watching his trinemate and son with a small smile on his face.

“So...” Thundercracker started, his expression changing slightly. “You really got with an Autobot, did you?”

The purple seeker instantly surged up, his mouth falling open in indignation. He could tell that Thundercracker had been dying to ask him about this for days, but this was not the time or place.

“Not in front of Nubby!” he gasped, reaching over to pluck his son out of the solvent bath. Nubby kicked his pedes, spraying both the adults in solvent, and made an indignant squeaking noise.

“He doesn't understand it yet,” Thundercracker insisted, the ghost of a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Come on, which one was it really?”

“I don't remember!” Skywarp snapped, wrapping a towel around the newspark before he could get cold and start crying again.

“Still, can't be too hard to figure out if we wanted,” the other seeker mused. “Most mechs are pretty eager for round two after a night with you, aren't they? Bet you blew his poor little Autobot processor.”

Skywarp paused. He hadn't thought of it that way before.

“Well. Obviously, I would have shown him the cables in any situation,” he sniffed. “You know how Autobots are—so regimented and stiff from blindly following their Prime all the time. It was charity, really, my giving him a go.”

“It's a pity you don't remember,” Thundercracker sighed. “I'll bet it would make for one rip-roaring hilarious story.”

“A hilarious, sparkling-inappropriate story,” Skywarp pointed out. “I mean, maybe when he's older...”

“Warp,” his trinemate said, laying a servo on the purple seeker's shoulder. “No one  _ ever _ wants to hear how his parents conceived him, no matter  _ how _ old he is.”

Skywarp frowned, shifting his son's weight in his arms. Nubby hicupped and one of his servos curled around the seam where Skywarp's cockpit met the rest of him.

“You're gonna get your digits pinched, silly,” Skywarp muttered, tugging the tiny servo away. Nubby looked up at him, and then promptly began sucking on the edge of his turbine. “That's fine,” his creator sighed.

“Hey, Thundercracker,” Skywarp said next, turning back to his trinemate. “What'll I do if he asks about his sire later on?”

“You think he'll make it more than a few months before someone starts calling him 'Autobot spawn' like it's a term of endearment?” the other seeker pointed out.

“They'd better not!”

“But you know they will.”

“Okay, so he'll know his sire is an Autobot,” Skywarp conceded. “But what if he starts asking  _ which _ Autobot, and I have to explain why I don't know?”

“You'll come up with something,” Thundercracker shrugged. “And hey, how can he possibly care who his sire is when he's got all of us around.”

“Fair enough, but...”

“Warp,” Thundercracker moved over now to caress his trinemate's shoulder vent. “Don't worry about it. You've got ages before he'll be old enough to ask those kinds of questions. I mean, he has to learn to talk first, for one thing. Don't you, little buddy?”

Nubby stared curiously as Thundercracker leaned in to tickle him under the chin.

“I wonder what his voice will sound like...” Skywarp mused, his expression softening as he watched his sparkling.

They moved back into the main room of their trine quarters, and Skywarp started going about settling Nubby into the self-rocking sparkling seat that Soundwave had convinced the Constructicons to make him.

“Do you think the leak might do anything weird to Nubby's health?” he consulted his trinemate, indicating a crack in the corner that they'd never quite been able to seal up. Fortunately, it was just a pipe that kept dripping into their quarters and not the ocean itself, but he couldn't help wondering if the damp might not be damaging to his sparkling's developing vents.

“Well, it's better than just about anywhere else on this Primus-forsaken excuse for a ship,” Thundercracker pointed out.

And Skywarp couldn't argue with that. He used to assume Megatron's quarters at least must be better, but then there was the time near the beginning of Megatron and Starscream's relationship when Starscream had shown up back at their quarters in the middle of the night covered in seawater and picking small fish out of his transformation seams. And the time a few months after that when Skywarp had found the both of them sleeping in Starscream's lab, reeking of exhaust fumes. Everywhere on board the  _ Nemesis _ was some kind of structural disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh!” Skywarp realized suddenly. “I could check the datapads Soundwave gave us. Maybe there’s something in there about newsparks and humidity.”

“Or just wait for Starscream to get back and ask him. He’s got most of them memorized by now,” Thundercracker pointed out.

“No, I wanna try and learn it myself,” Skywarp insisted as he headed back into their berthroom.

He’d left the stack of datapads on his nightstand, and had been trying to read through them while he was up fueling Nubby at night. Of course, he’d never been great at reading, and so far he’d only gotten through the first chapter of the first one. Still, he’d learned that newsparks who didn’t get held enough tended to lack empathy as adults, and considered this a valuable insight into his trine leader’s psyche.

As Skywarp grabbed the stack of datapads, he almost didn't notice the scrap of holopaper that fluttered out from beneath them until it caught on the bottom of his pede.

He picked it off with a frown and (assuming it was a note from Starscream) was about to crumple it up when he realized it wasn’t either of his trinemates’ handwriting. 

  
DEAR SKYWARP,

I KNOW WHO YOUR SPARKLING'S SIRE IS. MEET ME ON THE SHORE 13 DEGREES NORTHWEST OF THE NEMESIS AT 1600 HRS TOMORROW.

P.S. BRING THE NEWSPARK.

P.P.S. THIS IS NOT A PRANK.

 

“Oh, dear...” Skywarp murmured, sinking down on his berth.

By his own calculations, the only person likely to know the identity of Nubby’s sire was the mech himself, which meant that this was a note from an Autobot. Which meant that he really ought to report it to Soundwave because that meant that either there was a spy in their midst passing notes around for Autobots, or one of them had actually been in his room, and…  _ yech! _ But if he really could find out who Nubby’s sire was… 

The sound of a slamming door, followed by wailing (surprisingly  _ not _ from his son) stole his attention away then, and he hastily tucked the note under his pillow.

“What is going on out here?” he demanded as he stepped back into the main room, the datapads clutched to his chest.

The answer was immediately apparent as he saw Thundercracker standing somewhat dumbfounded in the middle of the room with Starscream sobbing loudly into his shoulder.

“I'll go get the iced energon and the mercury truffles...” Skywarp sighed, turning right back into the berthroom, where they kept their secret stash of treats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thick plottens....


	6. Intersecting Tangents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to upload this chapter on Wednesday like I planned to, so I put back a scene that I had originally cut out to keep the word count down as penance. You're welcome.

 

Sideswipe was in disgrace. Everywhere he went in the Ark, helms turned, whispers started, and the more sensitive members of the crew would even edge a little farther away from him. At one point, Bumblebee actually ushered Spike to the other side of the hallway as Sideswipe passed. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could have gotten away for a drive or something, but Optimus placed the frontliner under house arrest for the foreseeable future. His only refuge from his comrades' judgment was his and his brother's hab suite.

Sunstreaker was finding the whole thing hilarious, which his twin appreciated about as much as a hot poker to the optic.

“You wouldn't be laughing if it was  _ you! _ ” he snapped after the Bumblebee incident.

“Yeah, but the point is that it's  _ not _ me,” Sunstreaker countered. “I am  _ not _ the one who got so desperate he went and clanged a Decepticon's lights out and landed himself with a mini seeker to raise.”

“You don't think Prime  _ actually _ expects me to raise it, do you?” Sideswipe choked. “I kind of thought maybe that was just a threat...”

“Oh, yeah. He'll make you raise him,” his twin assured him. “This is Prime we're talking about after all. He'll be all, 'You must take responsibility for the consequences of your actions!' and 'The bonds of coding must be respected.'”

“But I don't know  _ anything _ about newsparks! It would be better off with its creator, wouldn't it? At least Skywarp actually  _ wants _ it!”

Sunstreaker's suggested solution for that problem was to talk to Prime, which Sideswipe was definitely not in a hundred million years going to do. Admitting to Optimus Prime that he felt absolutely no parental instinct toward his own son was as good as strapping a Decepticon brand on his forehead.

The only person in the whole base who seemed to have any sympathy for his plight was Skyfire.

“I knew Skywarp a little bit before the war,” the shuttle bot explained when he came to visit Sideswipe in his quarters one day. “He was practically still a sparkling himself back then, but... he was a good kid. You could do worse even on our side.”

“Yeah, could definitely do worse than the Decepticons' faction-wide slut for my baby mama,” the Lamborghini grumbled.

“You don't mean that,” Skyfire said, and there was that awful Skyfire sadness in his optics that made Sideswipe mumble under his breath that no, he didn't.

“So, is Optimus working on some kind of custody claim for you?” Skyfire wanted to know, his wings hitching up just a little.

“Um... Yeah, something like that,” Sideswipe shrugged. Optimus had asked him to keep the fact that they were planning to outright kidnap his illegitimate offspring a secret for now (they didn't want to risk any information getting back to the Decepticons).

“That'll be nice!” the other mech rumbled, clasping his servos together. “It's been so long since any of us saw a newspark... I'm sure his presence would have a positive effect on the base as a whole. And it would be good to see any of Starscream's trine under non-combat circumstances.”

Sideswipe opened his mouth, about to ask Skyfire a question that had been burning in the back of most everyone's processors since they'd first picked the shuttle bot up from the Decepticons, but then thought better of it. Unfortunately, Skyfire noticed and gave him a wry smile.

“We were never more than friends, if that's what you were wondering,” he said.

“I didn't... I wasn't... Why would I...” the grounder spluttered.

“Just about everyone in the base has asked me at some point, and I don't know why I bother answering anymore,” the jet sighed. “No one believes me anyway.”

“I believe you,” Sideswipe said hastily. “Two people don't necessarily have to be in a relationship just because they spent a lot of time together or they enjoy each other's company or... or even if they happened to accidentally interface with each other once!”

Skyfire snorted.

“Honestly, I don't blame you,” he confessed. “Just because we never were more than friends doesn't mean I never thought about it. Seekers are gorgeous creatures.”

“Right!? I've heard just about everyone in this base make some comment about wanting to 'face one of the elite trine at some point or another!” the Lamborghini ranted. “They came up in Frag, Bond, Kill once, and everyone said they'd frag Skywarp— _ everyone! _ Well... Except Smokescreen wanted to frag Starscream, but whatever. He's weird. But anyway, I happen to be the only one with the guts to actually do it and now I'm the ship's pariah!”

“Well... there's a big difference between washrack talk and reality, but... I see your point.”

It was nice to have a sympathetic audial for once, but Sideswipe tried not to spend too much time with Skyfire. He would be hard-pressed to maintain his defense of “I was overcharged and made a one-time mistake” if rumors started going around that he was hanging out with their local seeker-sympathizer.

With the rest of the base avoiding him as much as he was avoiding them, Sideswipe didn't have much to do for the next week or so than binge watch VHS copies of the first ten seasons of  _ As the Kitchen Sinks _ .

He was sprawled on his berth one morning, halfway through season 8 (which, rather appropriately, was the one where Katy found out that her baby being stillborn back in season 2 had been a lie), when there came a ring at the door for the first time in days. He groaned and connected his own comm with the door comm so he wouldn't have to get up.

“Who is it?” he demanded, mouth full of magnesium crisps.

“It's Mirage,” came the reply, and Sideswipe was about to buzz him in when the spy added, “Oh, and Prowl is accompanying me.”

The Lamborghini swore loudly, forgetting he was connected to the door comm, and jumped off his berth to frantically brush crumbs off of every possible surface, including himself. He shoved a pile of empty energon cubes and crisp wrappers beneath the berth before rushing over to hit the door controls.

“Good day, Sideswipe,” Mirage said, inclining his helm to the younger mech. “It has been a good while, hasn't it?”

“Skip the pleasantries, Mirage,” Prowl muttered, stepping past the other two and into the room. He paused when he saw the TV and nodded appreciatively. “Good episode—one of my favorites. Although, if you wanted to research rearing techniques, I'd recommend season 4. Katy's sister Lisa provides exemplary demonstrations of interactions with newsparks.”

Sideswipe just blinked at him for a moment. He'd known logically that, as his “best friend”, Prowl had to have  _ something _ in common with Jazz, but he hadn't expected it to be a love of human soap opera.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he finally got out, stepping over to turn off the TV set.

“I'll be brief with you, Sideswipe,” Prowl continued. “The newspark is yours.”

Well, he hadn't really expected otherwise.

“Indeed,” Mirage agreed, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him. “Cons don't guard their sparklings as closely as their data stores—go figure—so it wasn't difficult to grab a coding sample while his creator's trine was recharging.”

“When did you get  _ my _ coding sample?”

“The next step is to find some way to get Skywarp to bring the sparkling out of the base,” Prowl went on, ignoring the question. 

“Wait, I thought you were just as against this whole idea as I am,” Sideswipe frowned, grasping at a suspected ounce of hope.

“My personal misgivings are irrelevant in light of Optimus’s better judgment,” the intelligence officer sniffed. “Our Prime has foresight well beyond our own, and you would do well to remember it. Now, your task in all this is to earn Skywarp’s trust with the pretense of wanting to meet your bouncing bundle of joy.”

“Why doesn't Mirage just kidnap it out of the ship himself?” Sideswipe wanted to know. He had no desire to interact with Skywarp anymore than necessary while sober.

“I can bend light, Sideswipe, not sound,” Mirage answered.

“So?”

“As you will soon know all too well, newsparks are prone to making noise,” Prowl explained.

“Oh, right...” A knot of anxiety clenched low in Sideswipe's tanks. He really did not want to do this.

“At any rate, it should be a relatively simple task,” Mirage assured him. “Skywarp is a highly trusting individual. I once saw him give half his monthly rations to Motormaster because the other mech claimed that he had accidentally spilled his down the drain in the washracks.”

“...How has he survived the war this long?” Sideswipe wanted to know.

“By trining himself to the Decepticons' biggest bully and possibly the only sensible mech in their whole army,” Prowl supplied. “But more importantly, your first rendezvous with the seeker is scheduled for this afternoon.”

“What?” Sideswipe squeaked, feeling that this was all moving unusually fast.

“We will be waiting far enough away to avoid detection, but close enough to assist should anything go wrong,” the intelligence officer continued. “We do not expect him to follow our request to bring the newspark this time around, so you are to focus on building rapport and playing on his sentimentality.”

“Okay, but a newspark isn't an energon cube!” Sideswipe protested. “You really think I could get him to bring it out anytime in the near future? And how did you manage to schedule a rendezvous with him in the first place?”

“It is natural for a creator to feel at ease around his sparkling's sire,” Prowl explained. “Whatever your past may be, primal coding will work in your favor to make him... susceptible to your suggestions.”

“And I left him a titillating note,” Mirage added. “I can guarantee he'll show up.”

“Alone?”

“Probably.”

“We will be close enough to respond should you need any assistance,” Prowl reminded him.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to make another protest, but the two officers were already disappearing back into the corridor.

“I will return at 1300 hrs to escort you. Take some time to make yourself presentable before then,” Prowl called over his shoulder as the door closed.

The Lamborghini stared at his berthroom door for a while, mouth still hanging open, before moving to collapse on his berth with a roar of frustration.

He didn't  _ want _ a newspark, and he had no emotions toward the thing except resentment. Naturally, he agreed that leaving it with the Decepticons was a bad idea (forget the terrible company, the amount of salt water in the air on the  _ Nemesis _ had to be enough to corrode even a full-grown mech), but he didn't see why  _ he _ had to be the one to take care of it. Having his entire life turned upside down by a flying midget seemed a steep price to pay for one night of half-remembered fun.

Sideswipe lay on his berth, wallowing in frustration and self-pity for a few more minutes before he felt a curious prodding from his twin, who was out on patrol at the moment. He opened a comm channel between the two of them.

“Prowl is making me go talk to Skywarp this afternoon,” he explained.

“And that's bad how?” Sunstreaker wanted to know.

“Sunny, he's making me talk to him so we can convince him to bring his little spawn out where we can snag it! It's just moving me one step closer to never knowing freedom again.”

“You know, I've been thinking about that. I'll bet there are plenty of other 'bots in the base who it would be easy enough to conveniently happen to leave the little menace with on a regular basis,” Sunstreaker said. “Sure, he might be your responsibility in name, but we happen to be professionals at shirking responsibilities. I see no reason this has to be any different.”

“That's... true,” Sideswipe mused. “I bet Skyfire would take him in a sparkbeat.”

“Oh, any time!” Sunny agreed. “In fact, I doubt you could keep the guy's servos off it even if you wanted to.”

Sideswipe instantly felt a wave of levity run through him. So, he could do the right thing and rescue his son from the evil Decepticons' clutches without necessarily having to parent him or have his life especially burdened in any way.

“It'll be fine, bro. We'll figure it out,” his twin assured him, and Sideswipe actually smiled at that.

We.

His brother was not intending to leave him alone in this.

“But hey, Sides?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't get distracted by those pretty wings when you meet up. One illicit Decepticon spawn is enough.”

Sideswipe cut the channel with an irritated huff.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sideswipe arrived at the coordinates Prowl had given him, at first he thought that perhaps he was in luck and Skywarp hadn't showed. It was a forest clearing just far enough from the shore not to be uncomfortably sandy, but close enough that there was a pleasant sea breeze coming through the trees still. It was nice, and Sideswipe was just thinking he might surreptitiously take a nap before reporting back that the mission had been a failure when he caught a flash of purple out of the corner of his optic.

“Don't move!” a familiar voice ordered, and he felt the barrel of a blaster press to the back of his head.

“I'm not armed, Skywarp,” the Lamborghini promised, carefully raising his servos into the air. “I just came to talk.”

“This had better be some kind of joke, Sideswipe,” the seeker huffed, pressing the gun harder into back of his helm. “Who sent you here?”

“What do you mean?” Sideswipe demanded.

“Which one of your slag-helmed comrades is my sparkling's sire?” Skywarp asked, cocking the blaster. “Is it Prime? Ironhide?”

“Wha...? Both of them have mates back on Cybertron! Why would they...” He gave a growl of frustration and spun around, seizing the seeker's wrist as he did. Skywarp made to hit him with his other servo, but he caught that as well. The two of them struggled for a moment in a manner all too familiar before Sideswipe managed to kick the taller mech's pedes out from under him and take him down.

Skywarp gave a huff of pain as his wings hit the ground and Sideswipe pinned him there. A sudden idea occurred to the grounder as the seeker glared up at him, doubtless getting ready for another attack.

“You mean you don't remember this?” Sideswipe asked, his voice turning playful, and Skywarp paused. “You weren't so reluctant for me to pin you down that night.”

“What are you talking about!? Get off me, fragger!” the seeker snarled, getting his pedes up under Sideswipe and kicking.

The Lamborghini rolled up into a crouch and held his servos out beseechingly as Skywarp aimed the blaster at him again.

“I’m saying that  _ I’m _ the sire, Skywarp!” he shouted, and the other mech paused, his optics widening and then narrowing in suspicion.

“You are not,” he decided. “Why would I ever ‘face  _ you _ ?”

“Why would  _ Optimus Prime _ ever ‘face  _ you!? _ ” Sideswipe returned.

“Uh, have you  _ seen me _ lately?” Skywarp scoffed, lowering his weapon to gesture at himself.

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge and decided to go for broke.

“I mean, not lately because you’ve been locked up in your base, but before that… Yeah, I’ve seen you,” he said. “I’ve seen some pretty interesting parts of you, for that matter.”

“Yeah?” Skywarp challenged. “If you’ve seen my valve, then describe it.”

“Uh… Purple?” Sideswipe tried. “Or, no. It’s dark gray with purple biolights. That’s what it was.”

The seeker's mouth dropped open, his optics flashing.

“How’d you know!?” he demanded.

Sideswipe resisted the urge to roll his optics. 

“Because I’ve seen it. How else?”

“Oh Primus!” Skywarp gasped, dropping his weapon entirely as his servos flew to his mouth. “That weird sex dream… That was  _ you! _ ”

Well, now there was an interesting tidbit.

“You’ve been having sex dreams about me?” Sideswipe wanted to know, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Just the one!” Skywarp hastily amended. “Don’t go getting a big helm! Anyway, like  _ you _ haven’t been having them after getting a piece of this! How’d you even manage that, anyway?”

“You really don’t remember?” the Lamborghini asked.

“In case you didn’t notice, I was totally slag-faced at the time,” Skywarp muttered, folding his arms petulantly.

“Well... I was kinda slag-faced too, to be honest,” he began. “Me and some of the other guys were having a drink, and I was so overcharged I got it into my helm that I should go take a look at the stars, and... Well, there you were.”

All at once, the hazy memory came back to him, crystal clear, of Skywarp standing in the middle of that field, staring at the sky with starlight glinting off his wings and the curve of his cockpit.

“So, you just tackled me, or what?” Skywarp wanted to know, still glaring accusingly as he scooted across the ground to sit in front of the other mech. “Don't get me wrong, for a grounder, you're not bad, but I have a hard time imagining myself just opening up for an Autobot, however much high grade I'd had.”

“Of course I didn’t!” Sideswipe protested. “Is that how Decepticons do things?”

Skywarp snorted. “Some of them.”

“That’s sick,” the Lamborghini told him, making a face.

“Not if I  _ wanted _ them to tackle me,” Skywarp insisted, leaning forward slightly.

“Okay, well, that’s not what happened. It was...” He stopped as he noticed that Skywarp was twisting himself in such a way to accentuate the streamlined curves of his frame type, his helm tipped to the side with a mischievous smile quirking those beautiful silver lips.

“I think we tried to fight,” he continued, forcing his gaze to focus on Skywarp's optics and not his wings. “But neither of us could hardly stand up, and... You started laughing and so did I, and... we sat down to talk instead.”

Skywarp hummed with interest. “Kind of like we’re doing today?” he asked, twisting his body the other way now. 

Sideswipe wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if this was just how seekers were. It was certainly true that he had occasionally felt a bit of heat coiling in his panels just watching Starscream walk across the command room of a power station. Either way, the Lamborghini was having a hard time not thinking about how the damning night in question had been the last time he’d had anyone other than his own servo for company.

“So... Anyway... Sorry for sparking you, I guess,” he muttered, avoiding optic contact entirely now.

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Skywarp said, waving it aside. “I mean, really it's a miracle it didn't happen sooner.”

“Right...” Sideswipe wasn't used to people being so willing to confess their promiscuity like it was a fact of life.

“It was a trip and a half, you know,” the seeker told him. “Carrying and giving birth, that is.”

“Does it hurt as much as everyone says?” Sideswipe asked, eager to keep the conversation away from interfacing.

“Slag, I thought I was gonna die!” Skywarp laughed, settling down right beside Sideswipe now. “Your stupid kid's helm was too big for my valve; Hook had to cut me to make enough room to get it out. It only just finished healing last week.”

And now he was thinking about Skywarp’s valve again.

“But it was worth it,” the seeker continued. “He's the most adorable little newspark you ever saw.”

A newspark… He and Skywarp had  _ actually _ made an entire new life together. The seeker had carried  _ his son _ . The thought was a lot more real than ever before now with Skywarp sitting here beside him, and Sideswipe found himself reaching a servo out, almost subconsciously, to touch the other mech’s waistline.

Instead of stopping him or drawing back, Skywarp leaned into the touch, his frame now so close that Sideswipe could feel the warmth radiating off of him. It was… more than Sideswipe would have expected, unless…

There was a whoosh as Skywarp’s cooling fans kicked on.

“Oops,” the seeker said, grinning at him playfully, and Sideswipe’s processor suddenly went blank.

“Wha…?”

“Oh, come on, Sideswipe,” Skywarp huffed, rolling his optics. “Why do you think I came here alone? Let’s go. I haven’t had anything in months!”

A purple servo landed on his interface panel, and Sideswipe felt his mouth go very dry. 

He shouldn't do this.

He knew he shouldn't do this. Not only was it bordering on sedition, but Prowl and Mirage were somewhere around here monitoring him. As a matter of fact, Mirage was probably very close by,  _ watching _ him, but... Well, a mech who spent most of his time sneaking invisible through the Decepticons' base couldn't be half so much a prude as he came across, and they did want him to gain Skywarp's trust, Sideswipe reasoned with his seeker-filled processor. Interfacing was an act of trust in a lot of ways, wasn't it? Prowl could cover his optics if he was bothered; Sideswipe  _ needed _ this.

Nearly a year of pent-up frustration let loose as he seized the back of Skywarp’s helm and pulled him close, their mouths coming together in a warm, wet mess of glossa and lips. Skywarp made a muffled whining noise as the other mech's servos slid down to grope at the his broad wings, and Sideswipe could feel his spike already starting to pressurize behind its panel. He broke away from the seeker's mouth and started trailing desperate kisses along his jaw and down the side of his neck.

“Primus, you had better not be teasing me!” he murmured against the base of the Decepticon's throat.

“Right back at you!” Skywarp replied. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get any action with a newspark around?”

Sideswipe pulled the seeker into his lap and revved his engine, letting the vibrations sink deep through the other mech's armor.

“Oh!” Skywarp gasped, grinding against him. “Not teasing! Oh, boy!”

“You aren't gonna forget this time,” the Lamborghini promised. Skywarp hooked both legs around him in response, trying to expose as much of his interface array to the engine vibrations as possible, Sideswipe guessed. He let himself fall back onto the forest floor under the seeker’s weight.

“I call top,” Skywarp breathed in his audial as they repositioned themselves.

“Be my guest,” Sideswipe told him, his spike throbbing behind its panel now and his valve twinging ever so slightly as several tons of desperate seeker proceeded to straddle him.

He reached a cautious servo down toward Skywarp's intimate panels, and the other mech angled himself back so that he could stroke a digit down the length of his crotch seams. This, he remembered all too well. Sideswipe pressed his thumb against a particular section of the warm metal and pushed up. Skywarp's interface panel snapped back instantly, and a gob of lubricant dribbled out onto the Lamborghini’s stomach.

“If this really isn't the first time you've seen it, then prove it,” Skywarp demanded, his voice husky and optics hooded.

Sideswipe swallowed and hesitated a moment before pressing a digit between moist, silky folds and stroking downward. The seeker shuddered slightly in response. Sideswipe grinned and repeated the motion, circling the other mech's anterior node a couple of times before sliding back down.... and up, and down... Skywarp was starting to vent a bit harder.

There was another snap and a hiss as Sideswipe released his spike, letting it pressurize against the seeker's aft. Skywarp scooted farther forward along his abdomen to allow him room, and then reached back to take the Lamborghini's spike in servo. Sideswipe grunted appreciatively and sank a digit into the other mech, twisting it up to hook against the sensor nodes at the front of his valve.

They fingered each other for a few more minutes before Skywarp started to reposition himself with a little whine.

“I need more,” he explained breathlessly. Sideswipe nodded in agreement and pulled his digits out, grinning to himself as a thick string of lubricant stretched along with them for a ways before breaking.

“What?” Skywarp asked.

“It’s like melted cheese,” Sideswipe explained, scissoring his generously-coated digits to demonstrate the elasticity. Then, realizing Skywarp probably didn’t watch human T.V., he added, “It’s a human food, like… It’s not important right now.

“I know what cheese is,” Skywarp told him as he rose up to hover over the fully pressurized spike in his fist. “T.C. watches squishy shows. Don’t compare me to human food or I’ll squeeze your spike off.”

“Yes, sir,” Sideswipe promised.

“Good. Now, watch me put it in,” the seeker said, sinking down to rub the tip along his entrance.

Sideswipe made a choking noise, wondering how the idiot thought he could look anywhere else right now, but then instantly shuttered his optics in ecstasy as he felt the mesh of the seeker's valve spreading to accommodate him. Skywarp stopped and rose up again, and Sideswipe opened his optics to find the other mech pouting at him.

“Watch me!” he insisted. “I like it when people watch.”

Sideswipe refrained from asking him how often he let people watch him, and nodded instead—anything to get himself back into that silky tight valve.

The seeker sank down once more, wincing and gasping as his body adjusted to the intrusion, and Sideswipe's cooling fans kicked up several notches as he both watched and felt himself become engulfed in warm, wet heat.

Skywarp took him all the way to the hilt, and then spent a moment just sitting there, venting heavily with his servos on the Lamborghini's hood. Sideswipe was just opening his mouth to ask if he was okay when he started to move.

“Primus, I missed this,” the seeker whimpered as he rose up and sank back down on the other mech's spike, slowly for now.

“You can say that again,” Sideswipe grunted. For all his infamous history of copious fragging and having just given birth a month ago, Skywarp's valve still hugged the Lamborghini’s spike perfectly. Seekers really were top notch. He could see why Megatron put up with Starscream.

Sideswipe reached up to grip Skywarp's hips, holding the seeker in place where his spike was only just inside him before starting to thrust up into him with his own motions. He went harder than Skywarp had been going himself, and the seeker whined each time he shoved into him.

“I'm starting to see what I was thinking that night,” Skywarp gasped, and Sideswipe tightened his grip on his hips.

“You were too overcharged for this that time,” he growled. “All you could do was spread your legs for me and beg.”

“You like begging?” Skywarp asked, his servos sliding up Skywarp's chest to his throat. “Beg me this time.”

That was all the warning Sideswipe got before the seeker let his full weight fall on him again, his clawed servos starting to squeeze around the Lamborghini's throat. There was something almost manic in his optics as he leaned forward and ground his pelvis languidly into Sideswipe's. The grounder's spike  _ throbbed _ inside the seeker's valve.

“Frag me, you sick little seeker,” he hissed through the light constriction on his vocalizer. “Squeeze me dry already!”

“What's the magic word?” the seeker whispered, starting to raise up ever so slowly.

Sideswipe growled and tightened his grip on the other mech's hips. This was fun and all, but what he really wanted was to watch Skywarp come undone again, see him drooling and incoherent with pleasure, and he had an idea of how to achieve that. He yanked the seeker down, ignoring his little pout at having his game interrupted, and then revved his engine once more.

“OH!” Skywarp yelped, helm throwing back as the vibrations hit him to his core this time. “That's... Oh,  _ frag! FRAG! _ ”

His servos left Sideswipe's throat and clasped the grounder's shoulders instead, his knees squeezing tight as he doubled over, optics squeezed shut and mouth hanging open. Sideswipe cut his engine and watched the seeker pant for a moment, trying to regain some of the dominant air he'd had a moment ago, before starting it up again.

Skywarp gave a long, guttural moan and reached a servo down to fondle his anterior node.

“Not yet,” Sideswipe told him, snatching the servo away. The seeker whined at him, his optics desperate. “ _ That's _ what I wanted to see,” the Lamborghini hummed, reaching up his free servo to caress the other mech's cheek.

“You bastard,” Skywarp growled, but he was still shaking his hips up and down enthusiastically, so Sideswipe wasn't especially bothered.

“Let your spike out,” he ordered. The seeker obeyed, and Sideswipe watched the pretty purple biolights bounce up and down hypnotically for a moment before reaching out and fisting it.

“Primus! So close...” Skywarp whined, one servo dipping into his own turbine as he started moving so fast that Sideswipe was having a hard time keeping hold of his spike.

“Come on; overload for me,” he said as he felt the seeker's valve clenching harder around him.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes,” Skywarp chanted faster and faster before suddenly letting out a wordless shout of ecstasy as his valve started spasming in perfect sync with the spurts of transfluid that shot across the Lamborghini's chest and face. Sideswipe's own optics went wide, unable to quite shake the impression that his spike really was going to be pulled right off.

A moment later, the seeker collapsed strutless on top of him, valve still twitching occasionally as he vented heavily against the grounder's audial. Sideswipe waited a moment before starting to lift him off his still-pressurized spike.

“You're not done yet,” Skywarp murmured, pushing himself back down.

Sideswipe turned to see amusement glistening in the seeker's optics.

“I call top this time,” was all he could think to say.

 

* * *

 

“You stink,” Prowl announced when Sideswipe reappeared, his plating in disarray and covered in black and purple scuffs.

“Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities,” Sideswipe muttered, picking a twig out of a joint.

“I told you to gain his trust, not frag him six ways to Cybertron!” his superior snapped.

“Actually,” Mirage announced, phasing into view beside his boss. “It was eight ways, I believe.”

Sideswipe wasn't sure what was more disconcerting: the fact that Mirage really had been watching them or the fact that his cooling fans hadn't even come on in response.

“Anyway,” he said, trying not to think too hard on this. “I did gain his trust. He said he'd bring the sparkling to our next meeting, no questions asked. Pillow talk is a powerful thing, Prowl.”

Prowl just sneered at him before flipping into a transformation sequence and starting back toward their base.

“Well done,” Mirage commented, giving the other mech a pat on the shoulder. “I recommend giving yourself a more thorough wipe down before we get to base, though. Prowl will probably parade you through the front door in retribution and you have something unseemly on your left cheek for starters.”

Sideswipe felt his tanks lurch and hastily wiped at his face to find a bit of transfluid drying there.

Ah, well. It had been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that this is the first legitimate sex scene I've ever actually posted... Lol


	7. Love in Disarray

There was no balm for depression quite like having a recharging newspark sprawled out across one's chest, Starscream had decided. Skywarp had gone out several hours ago now for what his trinemates had agreed was a well-needed flight, and Starscream had been all too eager to take over the care of his son in his absence.

The both of them were currently laid out on the living room floor, Nubby splayed across the adult seeker's cockpit with one chubby servo in his mouth, a trail of drool running down onto the glass he was resting on. Starscream was alternating between staring at him and reading a datapad he'd swiped from Megatron's personal library a few weeks back. At the moment, he was doing the former.

It would never cease to amaze him how this beautiful little creation had come from his idiot of a trinemate and an Autobot of all people. Skywarp hadn't even tried; it had been a total accident. Perfection from happenstance... Who'd have thought?

How much more beautiful would his and Megatron's sparkling be?

He shook the thought from his helm because it was pointless to even wonder—it was never going to happen.

He'd never thought any of this would happen, if he was honest. Sure, he had joined the Decepticons all those millennia ago full of fantasies involving a charismatic ex-miner with thighs as thick as his waist, but it had quickly become clear that however much Megatron appreciated his capacity for creating chaos, he had no time to be entertaining younglings. And so their relationship had turned sour, and Starscream had honestly thought for a while that the mech who had once been the subject of nearly all his wet dreams was seriously going to be the mech who killed him one of these days.

Until something changed. Starscream still wasn't sure when exactly it had been, but sometime maybe two years ago now, Megatron had just... stopped.  When Starscream actively rebelled against him, he just gave him a disappointed look and moved on. When Starscream messed up, he was almost understanding. It had been disconcerting, and a sense of terror had flooded the seeker. Had Megatron decided he was so beyond hope that he wasn't even worth disciplining anymore?

It was not long after Skywarp found out he was carrying that Starscream had downed a bit too much high grade and broken into Megatron's quarters, initially intending to assassinate the dunderhead, and ended up confessing his lifelong crush on him instead. And so their weird, undefined relationship had begun.

And Starscream had deluded himself into thinking that it would continue indefinitely until about a week before Nubby was born. Megatron had been lying on top of him in their berth at the time, his face resting against Starscream's cockpit, and Starscream had been thinking how utterly sublime it was to lie beneath such a powerful mech while knowing that he owned him completely, when Megatron had turned to look him straight in the optic and said:

“Bear me a sparkling, love.”

And everything had started falling apart.

“Are you planning on getting off the floor anytime soon?” Thundercracker's voice came from the berthroom doorway, and Starscream twisted round to look at him upside down.

“He's sleeping,” he said by way of excuse.

“You should talk to Megatron,” the other seeker said, moving to flop down on the floor beside him.

“No, I should not,” Starscream snapped, resting a servo over Nubby's back so that he could feel the tiny sparkbeat there as well as in his cockpit. “I've already talked to him several times, and it just gets worse every time.”

Thundercracker heaved a sigh and rubbed his own servos over his face.

“Fine, don't talk to Megatron, but at least talk to me.”

“I've done that, too,” Starscream sniffed, turning away from him.

“No, you've cried at me. You haven't actually talked to me yet,” his trinemate pointed out.

“I don't want to talk.”

“You never do.”

“So, stop pushing if you know that.”

“I also know you always feel better if you get over that and actually do it.”

Starscream didn't answer him this time, choosing to focus his attention on the way Nubby's upper lip puckered almost into a perfect point as he sucked subconsciously on his fist.

“Reckon he's dreaming it's a feeding tube,” he murmured.

“You want a sparkling, don't you?” Thundercracker said finally, and Starscream felt the words twist in his spark like talons. “So, what's the problem? You don't want Megatron's sparkling?”

Starscream bit into his lower lip as it started to tremble. He didn't want to cry; he'd done enough of that last night.

“Star?”

Thundercracker rolled over onto his stomach and scooted himself closer until their helms bumped together.

“I'm not going to talk about it, T.C.,” the other seeker told him, his voice shaking.

“But you love Megatron,” his trinemate rumbled by his audial.

Starscream slid his servo up to cup the back of Nubby's head.

“He is old and stubborn and doesn't know a black hole from a neutron star,” he huffed.

“And you love him.”

“What does that word even  _ mean _ , T.C.?” Starscream snapped, turning to face him so that their noses were practically touching. Thundercracker nudged forward to bridge the gap a moment before sitting up and resting on one elbow over the other seeker.

“I dunno. I always thought it was the sort of thing you'd just know if you felt it,” he shrugged.

“I refuse to label any of my emotions with such a flippant word that has no real quantifications,” Starscream sniffed.

Thundercracker opened his mouth to say something to that when there was a sudden  _ vvop _ of displaced air and Skywarp appeared almost right on top of Starscream in a flash of purple light.

“Oh. Hey, guys,” he said, sounding strangely breathless. “I, uh... missed the washroom by a few feet...”

“Skywarp, what the pit!” Starscream shrieked, momentarily forgetting about the newspark resting on his chest. Nubby started to fidget, his face screwing up.

“Oh, I can take him now,” Skywarp said, diving forward to grab his son.

“Not until you've showered you won't!” his trine leader declared, shielding the newspark from his creator as he sat up.

“Warp, is that  _ transfluid? _ ” Thundercracker demanded, optics tracking up and down his trinemate.

“I'm not... I have needs!” Skywarp spluttered, looking unusually flustered at having been caught in the middle of a warp of shame.

“Who in the Pit have you been 'facing?” Starscream wanted to know. “You look like you got run over by Optimus Prime.”

For some reason, Skywarp's face flushed bright pink at this.

“I... See you later!”

He disappeared in another flash of violet light. No sooner had he vanished than Nubby woke up properly and started crying.

Starscream exchanged a look with Thundercracker as he rocked the sparkling, trying to quiet him once more. The blue seeker just shrugged.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp had intended to warp straight into his trine's washroom and scrub himself of all incriminating evidence before they had a chance to scrutinize him, but had missed in his post-overload haze. Fortunately, the communal washracks were empty when he zipped over there, which was only to be expected. There were precious few Decepticons who bothered to keep up with such frivolous things as hygiene, so the washracks were generally a safe bet for privacy any time other than right after flight maneuvers or a battle.

He felt some guilt at hiding his rendezvous with Sideswipe from his trine, but how was he supposed to explain it? If he told them who Nubby's sire was, then Starscream was liable to do everything in his power to exact some misplaced revenge on the Lamborghini. And if they found out that he had willingly 'faced an enemy soldier this time round... Well, they'd probably start making him wear a warp inhibitor and a tracking device. It was better this way, even if it did mean lying to them.

After all, he might want to pop out for future rendezvous. Who'd have thought that those repressed little Autobots could be as good at fragging as they were at fighting?

Normally, Skywarp would have taken time to enjoy the feel of the hot solvent running over his frame, but today he was in a hurry to get back to his son. This was already the longest he'd been away from Nubby since... Well, technically since the last time he and Sideswipe had met up, he supposed. At any rate, it was making him anxious not knowing what his newspark was doing.

Not that the outing hadn't been worth it. He'd answered a couple of vital questions and relieved even more stress than he'd realized he had. His whole frame felt warm and loose, and he found himself humming as he scrubbed the red paint transfers off his inner thighs.

It was a relief knowing that Sideswipe was his sparkling's sire, really. So many of the Autobots were just so...  _ ugh! _ At least Sideswipe had a handsome face. For a grounder. Skywarp wondered if Nubby was going to take after his sire's brash personality at all. Suddenly the image of a full-grown version of his son engaging in a bull-headed argument with Starscream popped into his mind, and he couldn't help but giggle.

“Well, someone's in a good mood,” a deep voice spoke up from behind him.

Skywarp rolled his optics, but didn't even bother turning around.

“What do you want, Ramjet?” he demanded, scrubbing some dirt and grass stains off one of his arms.

“Geez, no need for the hostility! I'm just here to wash,” the conehead protested. “Although... Don't suppose you could use some help with those wings, eh?”

“Not today,” Skywarp told him, flicking one in irritation. He went on scrubbing until he felt a tingling on his back and wings, suggesting that another mech's energy field was creeping up on his own.

“Can I  _ help _ you?” he snapped, spinning around so that one of his wings caught Ramjet right across the face.

The other mech stepped back a bit, rubbing at his nose and regaining his composure before he continued.

“Been a whole month since you popped out that sparkling,” he observed, gaze tracking up and down the smaller Seeker's frame. “Seems to me it's about time you put yourself back on the market.”

Skywarp scoffed, reaching over to turn off the solvent spray. Even if he had been of a mind to entertain Ramjet right now, he’d had plenty enough fragging for one evening, thank you very much.

“I might be easy, but I'm  _ not _ going to 'face you in the public washracks, if that's what you're after,” he said. “If I was into that sorta thing, I would've become a porn star.”

The other mech huffed in irritation and reached a servo toward one of Skywarp's wings anyway. The Seeker smacked him away.

“Do you have lead in your audials?” he demanded.

“If you really didn't want it, you'd have warped away by now,” the conehead pointed out.

“I'm not done washing,” Skywarp retorted. “Go away and let me finish in peace.”

“Could've used the washracks in your quarters if you wanted to wash in peace,” Ramjet countered. “Seems to me you wouldn't'a come down here 'less you were looking for something.”

Skywarp growled in irritation and turned away, trying to think what Starscream would do in this situation. His trine leader was always so much better than he was at being authoritative. It was true that he could just warp back to his quarters, but that would mean leaving behind the impression that he could be bullied out of places anytime Ramjet liked.

Before he could think of anything, a pair of servos was gripping his hips and tugging his aft back into a warming codpiece.

“I said  _ no, _ you incontinent  _ boob!” _ Skywarp snarled, shoving the other mech away.

Ramjet's face turned dark, and the seeker was mentally preparing himself for a fight when the sound of raucous laughter rang out from the corridor.

“No, no! Don't tell him that or you'll get stuck on monitor duty for a month!” Blitzwing's obnoxiously exuberant voice came through the door of the wash racks moments before the mech himself did with Long Haul and Bonecrusher trailing behind him. They stopped short when they saw the two fliers already occupying the space, and then Blitzwing's face broke out into a broad grin.

“Warp!” he boomed. “Where's the bean?” He started peering around the room, as though expecting to find the newspark tucked away on a shelf of polishes.

“He's with my trine,” Skywarp explained, taking advantage of the distraction to step farther away from Ramjet. “I needed some alone time.”

“Yeah, that's what my sire said before she disappeared for about a million years,” the triple-changer chuckled. “Well, hey! You gotta bring 'im around more often. He's gonna get weird if he spends too much time with Screamer.”

The constructicons nodded in agreement.

“I dunno. He's kind of shy about strangers,” Skywarp shrugged, moving to turn on a new solvent shower so that he could finish washing his wings. He could feel Ramjet still glaring at his back as he did.

“He knows me, though,” Blitzwing insisted. “He won't mind being around me, will he?”

“Maybe,” the seeker conceded, though really he was far from willing to share his son with anyone aside from his trine. Which made it even stranger that he was actually considering bringing Nubby to meet Sideswipe, but somehow that just felt... right.

“Ah, but hey!” the triple-changer continued, coming over to the spigot just beside Skywarp's. “If you do feel like you need some adult time, a bunch of us are havin' kind of a little shindig tomorrow evening. You ain't had a chance to get overcharged in a while, have ya?”

No. No, Skywarp had not. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to drink while Nubby was still feeding off him, but he was pretty sure he had enough stockpiled fuel that he could keep Nubby fed until he’d siphoned and dumped anything contaminated.

“Is this an approved shindig, or is Megatron gonna come storming in halfway through and throw a bunch of us in the brig for a week?” he wanted to know.

“It's approved!” Long Haul announced. “His lordship said we can do it as long as we don't go over a certain amount of the high grade rations.”

Skywarp made a face. “How much? Two cubes each and then we go home?”

“Nah,” Blitzwing assured him. “See, he said we can't go over on the high grade  _ rations. _ No one ever said anything about how much contraband we can have.”

A grin crept across the seeker's face.

“Okay. I see what you did there,” he said. “I might have to see if I can make it out.”

“You could leave the bean with Starscream or something again,” Blitzwing suggested.

“Yeah, or T.C.,” Skywarp mused.

“Or Starscream,” the other mech repeated.

“Eh... He could use some time out, too,” the seeker said apologetically.

“Is he fighting with Megatron again?” Long Haul called from the other side of the room, sounding eager for gossip.

“Give it a rest, Hauler!” Blitzwing told him.

“Anyway”—Skywarp finished washing the last bit of his wings and turned off his shower—“we should be able to make it.”

He stepped over to the drying vents, making sure to throw a haughty look in Ramjet's direction as he did. The conehead sneered at him and quickly turned away.

 

* * *

 

The sound of Nubby's cries were the first thing to hit Skywarp's senses when he warped back into his quarters—just before the sound of his trinemates yelling at each other over the top of him.

“No! You wrap it the other way! That's why he's upset!” Thundercracker was insisting, while Starscream yelled right over him:

“I know what I'm doing!”

Skywarp frowned and headed over into the berthroom where the other two seekers were both crouched over the bed with their backs to him.

“What  _ are _ you doing?” he asked, striding forward to elbow them away from his newspark.

Nubby was lying on the berth, flailing his little limbs in an apparent attempt to extricate himself from the insulation sheet his caretakers had been attempting to trap him in. Skywarp reached down and scooped him up.

The second the little bundle of armor was back in his arms, it was like a piece of him had been replaced. Nubby apparently agreed as his cries subsided and he settled against his creator with small, worried-sounding noises.

“We were just trying to swaddle him,” Thundercracker explained, “but we couldn't quite figure it out.”

“He was perfectly fine until Thundercracker tried to make his legs fit,” Starscream sniffed, folding his arms across his cockpit.

“Well, that insulation sheet is too small, for one thing,” Skywarp told them, pressing a kiss to his son's helm. “You want the gold one if you're going to swaddle him.”

“That explains a lot,” Thundercracker remarked. “Where's that one?”

“I just cleaned it, so it should be in the pile of fresh ones in the living room,” Skywarp told him.

While Thundercracker went to get it, the purple seeker sank down on the edge of the berth, shifting Nubby to sit in his lap, reclining against his servos. The newspark blinked up at his creator, and then made one of the weird little faces he did when he had bubbles moving around in his fuel tank. A bit of Skywarp’s spark melted.

“Where were you all day, anyway?” Starscream demanded, taking a seat next to him.

“Just flying around,” Skywarp told him.

“Find a lot of people to 'face while you were 'flying around?'” his trine leader asked.

“Oh! No, that was... Um... I, uh, ran into... Dirge when I got back, and... you know.”

Starscream's optics narrowed in suspicion, but he didn't press the matter.

“How are you?” Skywarp asked to distract him.

“The same as when you left,” the other seeker grumbled, reaching over to let Nubby curl a tiny servo around one of his digits. “He'll probably want more fuel soon.”

Skywarp hummed in acknowledgment, stroking a digit over a sparkling-soft cheek. Nubby opened his mouth wide and flailed his limbs before pulling Starscream's digit into his mouth to suck on.

“I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful he is,” Skywarp sighed, leaning over to rest his helm on his trinemate's shoulder.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see a surprising amount of evidence that Nubby was Sideswipe's son as much as his, especially in the shape of his still rather blobby helm. Skywarp noted the two bits on top that looked like they would grow into the same sort of fins that Sideswipe had on his helm, and the more rounded shape to the side panels that he had previously assumed was just because his son was still so young. His coloration—which Skywarp had thus far been seeing as just his own with red instead of purple—was also exactly Sideswipe's.

A sudden thrill went through Skywarp as he imagined presenting his sparkling to the Autobot in a couple of days. Surely, Sideswipe would be just as enamored with their son as he was, perhaps even enough that he might switch sides so that he could see Nubby whenever he wanted. If that happened, then Megatron would also praise Skywarp, and maybe he would be permanently taken off of cleaning duties. Wouldn't that be nice? It would be like one big party with the world's cutest sparkling at its center.

“Oh, hey!” he said, sitting up again. “There's a party tomorrow night in the mess hall. Megatron approved it if we don't break out too much of the high grade stock. You wanna come?”

Starscream seemed to consider critically for a moment.

“Megatron probably wouldn't like you being there,” Skywarp pointed out, and the other seeker smiled slightly.

“Alright, let's do it,” he agreed.


	8. Danger: Do Not Mix

Thundercracker was all too happy for an excuse to avoid a faction-wide shindig.

“The last time we had one, Wildrider tried to rip my wings off,” he explained. “Younglings are  _ not _ supposed to have high grade.”

“Duly noted,” Skywarp commented, from where he was lying on his back in the living room, tossing his son up and down in the air. “And...  _ fly! _ ” he chirped, launching the squealing newspark over himself again.

“You'll make him throw up if you aren't careful,” Starscream called from the bathroom, most likely speaking from experience.

“Why are you bothering to doll yourself up?” Skywarp asked him, sitting up and pulling Nubby in close to his chassis. The sparkling made a screeching sound and reached for his creator's turbine fans. Skywarp absently brushed the inquisitive digits away. “It's not like Megatron's gonna be there.”

“I look good for  _ me _ , not  _ him _ ,” his trine leader huffed back, waving a bottle of glass cleaner out the door at him.

“Hear that, Nubby? That's what denial sounds like,” Skywarp told his sparkling in sickly sweet tones.

“Don't give him bad impressions of me!” Starscream snapped.

“Yeah, just let him figure it out on his own,” Thundercracker put in from the couch, and the bottle of glass cleaner came soaring out the door toward him.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp and Starscream left Nubby in their trinemate's highly capable servos an hour later and headed down to the mess hall. A slow but persistent leak had sprung on one side of the room the previous day, but no one was letting that stop them. They had just cordoned the deeper parts of the puddle off using a couple of chairs with a Decepticon banner slung across them. There were several tables of high grade and various add-in options lining the room. The rest of the tables had been removed to create a dance floor, where most of the Stunticons had already started going wild, excepting Dead End, who was busy listening to something Dirge was telling him with intense optics.

“So, when it comes down to it, you can’t really  _ prove _ that any of us exist,” Skywarp heard the conehead saying as he and Starscream passed them. “Existence is merely a construct of security.”

“Ugh. I can't believe you've slept with him,” Starscream muttered to his trinemate.

“Hey, we can't all enjoy monogamous bliss!” Skywarp countered. “And what else was I supposed to do? Frag an...”

“Frag an Autobot?” Starscream finished his usual contradiction to criticisms of his interface partners for him, optical ridge raised.

“Well... he was a good-looking one, at least,” the purple seeker mumbled.

“I thought you didn't remember who it was,” Starscream said.

“I don't!” Skywarp assured him a little too quickly. “I just... Nubby is so cute, how could his sire not be one of the good-looking ones?”

“Mhmm,” Starscream hummed suspiciously. “And which ones are the good-looking ones, then?”

“Oh... you know,” Skywarp said as casually as he could. “Prowl, Jazz, the twins... Ironhide isn't bad, even if he is a little older. Not that age is an obstacle for  _ you _ .”

Starscream sneered.  _ “Some _ mechs get better with age. Have you ever seen pictures of Megatron when he was younger? Yech! Took him  _ ages _ to grow into that nose!”

Skywarp laughed and started nudging his trine leader toward a pile of glowing high grade cubes at the back of the room.

Blitzwing was standing near the table when they got there, talking with Long Haul, and his face lit up when he saw them approach.

“Look who's out in public again!” he roared, clapping Skywarp on the shoulder.

Long Haul gave the two seekers a once over and downed most of the cube he was holding in one gulp.

“Starscream,” the secondary surgeon said, nodding at the Air Commander. “Don't get in any fights tonight, please. I plan to charge myself into oblivion, and Hook said he'll put your wings on upside down if you show up in his medbay with damage from friendly fire one more time.”

“It's not like I go places  _ planning _ to get in fights!” Starscream protested.

“And yet you somehow manage it every time you set pede out of your front door!” Blitzwing laughed, far too loudly to be sober.

“Who made this batch of high grade?” Skywarp asked, reaching for a cube and swilling its contents a bit.

“This is the top shelf stuff!” Long Haul told him. “Mixmaster's been working on it since before you got knocked up.”

Skywarp gave a low whistle and threw back a swallow. It burned beautifully on its way down his intake.

“Primus, I have missed that!” the seeker gasped as he resurfaced.

“Yeah, well, you know what I missed?” Blitzwing said, grinning saucily and slipping an arm around the smaller mech to pull him close. He leaned down and whispered a stream of promising filth in Skywarp's audial.

“Wow, let me have some fun before you jump behind my panel, how about?” the seeker laughed, batting playfully at the triple changer.

He knew he would have his fair share of offers before the night was over, but Blitzwing was a good one: surprisingly sweet and attentive in the berth, but not so much so that it wasn't interesting. The question was if Skywarp wanted sweet and attentive right now, or just a good, old-fashioned pounding. Whoever he ended up with this evening, it needed to be someone who could remind him that he didn't have to go looking outside of his faction for a satisfactory overload.

But then he looked up and saw Starscream's face. Most people would have thought that was just a look of disdain, but Skywarp recognized it as his trine leader's attempt at hiding that he was upset about something. He prodded curiously at him through their trine link and got exasperation tinged with loneliness in return.

What did Starscream want from him? He couldn't very well help his trine leader hook up with people anymore. Megatron would mount his wings behind his throne if he did.

Well, it couldn't be anything that some good quality high grade wouldn't fix!

Skywarp slid out of Blitzwing's grasp and shoved a cube into Starscream's servo.

“Bet I can stay standing longer than you,” he murmured, quirking a smile in challenge.

Starscream grinned and gulped down his first cube. “You're on.”

 

* * *

 

An hour in, Skywarp was already feeling more than a little tipsy, and it was glorious. Most everyone was out on the dance floor by then—Rumble and Frenzy were DJ for the night, and if there was one thing those two knew how to get right, it was a dance party. Skywarp had lost Starscream somewhere in the mess, but wasn't too concerned; his trine leader always showed up again in the end.

The purple seeker had been grinding up against Bonecrusher for a good while when another pair of servos suddenly spun him away and held him close, much to the constructicon's annoyance if his indignant cry was anything to go by. It took a second for the inebriated seeker to recognize Ramjet's strong features.

“You just don't give up!” he huffed.

“You always give in eventually,” the conehead pointed out, sliding his servos shamelessly over the smaller mech's wings.

“Not you tonight,” Skywarp told him, pushing away. “You always do it too fast.”

“I...  _ what!? _ Is  _ that _ why you keep avoiding me!?” Ramjet demanded.

Skywarp considered that a moment, and then nodded. “You overload me in, like, ten minutes, and then you're done.”

“Well, how does everyone else do it?” the conehead wanted to know.

“Astrotrain usually does me in five... but then he'll take about thirty minutes building me up to the next one.”

The conehead's jaw dropped.

“We'll get together some other time when I've had too much high grade to care,” Skywarp told him, patting his cheek sympathetically. Then he caught sight of Starscream standing over by the high grade table again, laughing at something Long Haul was saying. Starscream genuinely laughing at anything was rare, and Long Haul was looking exceptionally pleased with himself for the accomplishment. Skywarp slipped away from the spluttering conehead and made his way over to them, curious what they could possibly be talking about.

“Skywarp!” Starscream gasped when he caught sight of his trinemate. “Skywarp, you gotta hear this! Say it again, Long Haul!”

“Which one?” the constructicon wanted to know

“That last one,” Starscream told him, flapping an eager servo.

“Okay, but Skywarp's probably heard it. How do you make your boyfriend scream during interface?” Long Haul asked, turning to the other seeker now.

“I dunno,” Skywarp shrugged, realizing that Starscream must be really truly overcharged if he was laughing like that at dirty jokes. “Bite down?”

“Nah, call and tell him about it.”

Starscream started cackling so hard that he had to grab onto his trinemate to stay up. Skywarp had to squint for a second, trying to figure out what the joke was, before joining in.

“That's a good one,” he conceded, wrapping an arm around his gasping trine leader to prevent him ending up on the floor. It looked like he was going to win their little challenge. Perhaps he could up the ante a bit. “What should you do if your partner ever starts smoking?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Long Haul confessed. “I just hope I don’t have to treat ‘em.”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad. Just slow down, and maybe use some lubricant,” Skywarp told him, smiling as Starscream buried his face in his armor and screamed with laughter.

“What does it mean if your boyfriend is in your berth gasping for fresh air and calling your name?” Long Haul asked when he had stopped laughing over the other one.

“You didn't hold the pillow down long enough!” Skywarp finished. That was one Thundercracker used to tell when Starscream and Megatron had first started sleeping together. He wasn't sure if he should be worried or not that Starscream still thought it was funny.

“Hey.” A deep voice cut through Starscream's shrieks of amusement, and Skywarp felt a large servo on his other shoulder.

“Primus, Ramjet! What do you want?” he demanded, letting go of his trine leader so that he could turn around and face the conehead.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Ramjet replied, his optics strangely grave. They were also exceptionally bright, and Skywarp was willing to guess he'd had at least as much high grade as Starscream.

“And I said no already. Go find someone else to disappoint,” the seeker told him, turning away again.

“There's a lot more to love than just interfacing!” Ramjet snapped, spinning Skywarp back around and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Woah! Wha... 'Love!?'” Skywarp sputtered. “I do  _ not _ love you!”

“Yeah, Ramjet!” Starscream cut in, squeezing himself between the two of them. “Nobody loves you! Hey, what are the three most common words that Ramjet hears?”

“Starscream—!!” the conehead snarled, stepping back a bit.

“Is it in?” the seeker cut him off, and Skywarp couldn't help but laugh.

Ramjet's face flushed brilliantly, and Skywarp felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. He might not have romantic feelings for the mech, but he had a feeling it was right to make fun of someone who had just confessed feelings for you regardless of the situation.

“Oh! What do you call the useless piece of metal attached to a spike?” Starscream went on.

“The housing?” Skywarp guessed, trying to think how to diffuse the situation. He wasn't any good at winding Starscream down; that was Thundercracker's job.

“No. 'Ramjet!'” his trine leader screeched.

“Starscream...” Long Haul tried, apparently agreeing with Skywarp that this was not the time. But Ramjet cut him off with a bark of mirthless laughter.

“Very funny. Here's a good one,” the conehead snarled. “How will Screamer ever know if Megatron's been cheating on him?”

“Don't...” Skywarp breathed, optics wide. He'd heard this one.

“If he finds another mech's paint on his knuckles!”

All humor disappeared from Starscream's face faster than he could break the sound barrier.

“Ramjet, you didn't...” Long Haul groaned, burying his face in his servos.

“Do you have a problem with my relationship?” Starscream asked, his voice deadly low and his optics flashing.

“Typical Starscream; you can dish it out, but you can't take it,” the conehead returned, stepping forward so that he loomed over the smaller flyer.

Skywarp suddenly wished very much that he was back in his quarters with his son cuddled up against his shoulder.

“You know why Skywarp doesn't like you?” Starscream hissed, jabbing a finger into the conehead's chassis. “Because you're stupid, slow, ugly, and you  _ suck _ at 'facing! He only ever sleeps with you out of desperation or pity, and he comes home complaining about how awful it was every single time.”

Ramjet growled and raised a fist.

“Guys, stop!” Skywarp wailed, dragging his trine leader back.

“It's fine, Skywarp,” Ramjet told him. “I'd never actually hit him. Megatron would slag me if I broke his favorite sex toy.”

Before Skywarp could stop him, Starscream snatched the container of potassium flakes for flavoring drinks off the table and chucked it at the conehead. Ramjet dodged it easily, and the cube and its contents arced past him to land in the puddle of seawater by the wall.

A plume of violet flames shot up where the metal landed, catching the banner on the chairs and setting it ablaze. The fire found a trail of spilled high grade next and started creeping toward a table of cubes.

By that time, Skywarp already had the fire extinguisher in servo and was rushing toward the scene of the crime. You didn't live with Starscream for over four million years without developing excellent reflexes when it came to putting out fires. Ramjet snatched the extinguisher from him before he could get within range, pushing the seeker away from the danger zone before turning the stream of foam on the blaze.

He almost made it, but a lick of flame managed to catch one of the cubes on the edge of the table.

The whole pile went up in a ball of pink flame that knocked Skywarp back into Starscream and sent both seekers sprawling into the other table of high grade. People started screaming, and the music stopped. There was a long moment of confusion, during which Skywarp was mostly trying to untangle himself from his trinemate, and then a ringing silence broken only by the sound of a fire extinguisher.

Skywarp finally managed to unhook his wing from Starscream's shoulder vent, and the two of them clambered somewhat stickily to their pedes.

Everyone was staring at Ramjet, who was standing in front of the other table, venting heavily and still holding the fire extinguisher. He had managed to put out the flames, though, before they spread to anything else flammable. Starscream scoffed and stepped up behind him.

If he'd been a bit more sober, Skywarp might have thought to stop him, but his processor was still occupied trying to figure out why the potassium flakes had exploded.

“Wow, Ramjet,” Starscream commented. “If you were that good in bed, maybe Skywarp would actually love y—”

He was cut off mid-sentence when Ramjet swung around and slammed the fire extinguisher into his face.

Starscream stumbled backward with a shriek of pain and shock, his servos coming up to cover his face as energon started streaming from his nose and mouth.

Skywarp gasped in horror, Starscream's pain echoing through their bond, and then threw himself at the conehead with a furious shriek, just as Ramjet was raising the fire extinguisher once more.

“You tin-plated garbage compactor!” the seeker shouted, latching onto the other mech's back and wrapping his arms round his throat.

Ramjet made a noise of frustration and threw his makeshift weapon at Starscream rather than hitting him with it. The seeker's shoulder armor was thick enough that it just bounced off him, but this didn't stop Skywarp screaming in rage and sinking his dentae into the other jet's stupidly pointed head because how dare he? How  _ dare he!? _ Who in the pit did he think he was to attack Skywarp's trine leader!?

Everyone else was shouting again, and Skywarp felt servos on his waist, trying to pull him off, which he ignored.

Apparently, no one was brave enough to try and restrain Starscream, though, because his trine leader was jumping back into the fray now, a thruster connecting with the glass of Ramjet's cockpit and sending him staggering backward. He tripped over his own pedes and landed on his back with Skywarp pinned beneath him. The purple seeker grunted as the impact knocked the air from his vents and then again when the weight on his chest increased. Starscream had jumped on top of Ramjet and was clawing at his face.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!!” a powerful voice boomed through the chaos, and Starscream suddenly stopped short, one servo poised to gouge at his victim's optic.

His own optics met his trinemate's, and Skywarp noticed then just how badly his face was smashed—his nose was definitely broken, and he was missing a few of his front dentae. Based on the depth of the dent on his chin, Skywarp wouldn't be surprised if his jaw was broken, too. At any rate, it was hardly a look Starscream would want to show to his boyfriend, and no sooner were heavy pedefalls coming their way than the tri-colored seeker was scrambling to escape through the crowd.

Skywarp wormed his way out from under Ramjet—who was struggling his way to his pedes—just in time to see Megatron sprinting across the mess hall to catch Starscream around the waist.

“Everyone get out!” the warlord bellowed over his second's squeals of protest.

Nobody dared disobey except for Ramjet's trinemates, who stood awkwardly off to the side a bit while Megatron set Starscream back down and forced the seeker to look at him.

“How did this start?” he demanded as he turned to the others, his optics promising murder.

Starscream tried to answer, but his mouth was too damaged to form the words properly.

“Stop it,” Megatron ordered, clamping a servo over the seeker's mouth. Starscream scowled at him.

“Stinking glitch wouldn't shut up, so I shut him up,” Ramjet supplied, nursing the worst of the cuts on his cheeks.

His trinemates hastily pulled him back into their ranks with desperate hushing noises.

“Starscream and Ramjet were both overcharged, and they got in an argument,” Thrust explained a moment later, and Skywarp scoffed. What did Thrust know? He hadn't even been there!

Megatron looked back to his second, who pointedly avoided eye contact.

“What kind of an argument?” he wanted to know.

“Ramjet was harassing me, and Starscream got involved,” Skywarp spoke up, feeling his cheeks start to warm as he realized how much of a damsel in distress this made him sound.

“He was making derogatory comments about my abilities as a lover!” Ramjet called from behind his trinemates.

“Which explains the broken jaw, but I fail to see how my mess hall caught on fire,” Megatron growled.

“Oh, that was Starscream too,” Skywarp supplied, seeing no point in hiding the truth. “He threw the potassium flakes into a puddle of sea water and they exploded.”

“Of course you did,” Megatron said flatly, finally moving his servo from his second's mouth and resting it on his shoulder instead. “Thrust, Dirge, please escort your trinemate to the brig.”

“Blatant favoritism!” Ramjet cried out, despite his trinemates' attempts to silence him.

“The punishment for striking a superior officer has always been two weeks in the brig on limited rations,” Megatron reminded him, optical ridges raised. “Unless you wish me to use Cybertronian Space Corps law, which states that the punishment is deactivation.”

Starscream nodded emphatically as Ramjet's face turned pale and he shook his own helm violently.

“Nossir.”

“Then, off you go.”

When they had gone, Megatron heaved a sigh and turned to Skywarp.

“You can go home to your son,” he said. “I'll take care of your trine leader.”

Skywarp hesitated slightly at the panic that rocketed through his chest from Starscream at that statement. Was it okay to leave them alone right now? But then Megatron's servo moved from Starscream's shoulder up to stroke the back of his helm, and it was so obviously a gesture of affection and comfort that Skywarp instantly relaxed. They would be okay, and he really wanted to hold his newspark right now.

“See you tomorrow, Star,” he called, heading out the door.


	9. Desperate Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone else was wondering why the potassium exploded, look up "alkali metals and water" on Youtube.

With his mouth currently out of service, Starscream was left with no choice but to use his comm system to communicate with Megatron as the warlord started pulling him by the elbow toward not the medbay but his own quarters.

_ ::Where do you think you're taking me, you corroded can!? I'm injured! The medbay is  _ that _ way!:: _

Megatron shot a glare over his shoulder and Starscream got a message in his comm system: “Contact 'Mega-aft' Unavailable.”

The bastard had blocked him! The Seeker tried to gasp in shock and offense and ended up choking on his own energon. Megatron stopped for a second until he'd finished, and then they moved on.

At one point in time, Starscream would have been worried that his commander was taking him away to punish him more privately, but now he was just worried that Megatron was going to try to talk to him again. He wasn't sure which was more terrifying.

When they got to the warlord’s quarters, though, Hook was waiting for them outside the door. He took one look at Starscream’s face and his own expression went flat.

“I might have known,” the medic sighed.

“Thank you for your promptness, doctor,” Megatron grunted as he swung Starscream into the room ahead of himself. “Just patch him up as best you can for now, and then you’re free to go.”

Starscream squirmed and fussed and generally did everything he could to make Hook’s repair job take as long as possible until Megatron threatened to hold him in his lap if he couldn’t sit still on his own. After about an hour, Hook stepped back from the Seeker and proclaimed him done for the time being. Almost instantly, Starscream jumped up out of the chair he’d been perched upon and started for the door. He didn’t make it.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, then, doctor,” Megatron grunted as he wrestled the incoherent Seeker back toward the chair.

Hook snorted slightly before gathering his things and sweeping out the door. He hadn’t said it, but Starscream just  _ knew _ the horrid mech was thinking Megatron meant Starscream would be needing additional medical attention by tomorrow. How dare he? How dare  _ all _ of them!? And they said that  _ he _ was the one disloyal to Megatron!

Apparently oblivious to the implications of Hook’s snorts, Megatron perched himself in front of the chair and gripped his Air Commander’s jaw carefully in one large servo.

“Let me see,” he murmured, turning the smaller mech’s helm toward him with a gentleness Starscream couldn’t refuse.

“Sometimes, I resent my rank, you know,” the warlord growled. “Slagging subordinates for trying to assassinate me is one thing, but it tends to cause dissension in the ranks if the commander starts slagging people for smashing in his boyfriend's face. Especially when said boyfriend deserved it.”

Starscream glared at him. Hook had cut all the sensors in his jaw, supposedly to eliminate the pain, but Starscream suspected it had been more for the immobilization effect. He couldn’t even  _ try _ to talk back.

“Now, I will talk, and you will listen,” Megatron told him, moving his servos to caress the Seeker’s helm vents.

Starscream hitched his wings and shoulders up to show his displeasure. Despite which, he couldn't quite resist spreading his knees to let the other mech's broad hips settle between them. Primus, it had been a while...

“Although we have seen considerably less of each other, you have still been on my processor a good deal these last few weeks,” Megatron began, jerking his second's attention away from his chest and back to his face. “And I would like to say that you, Starscream, are an intergalactic-level idiot.”

_ What!? _

“You possess a level of genius the likes of which comes around only once every few million years, and you squander most of it on finding creative new ways to antagonize everyone around you,” the older mech elaborated. “You're dishonest, disloyal, and deeply disturbed. Your idea of flirting was sulkily blowing holes in every plan I ever made, and you're so reckless that even your own trinemates refuse to follow you half the time.”

Starscream turned away to glare at the wall, arms folded across his cockpit.

“When we picked that shuttle bot out of the ice, I was just amazed that there was ever anyone in the whole universe who would call you a friend. Not a trinemate or a lover, but a friend! 'What special kind of fool does it take to see anything agreeable in  _ Starscream? _ ' I wondered. So, I started to look... and I found it.”

The seeker's helm snapped back around to find that his leader's optics had suddenly softened.

“Beneath a jaded, bitter exterior, I found a beautifully intelligent mech capable of wondering over the smallest marvels this universe has to offer. You hid it well, but I gradually began to see that you would have fought tooth and claw to your last spark beat for either of your trinemates. I started seeing reasons to appreciate your inventiveness and cunning as assets rather than simply resent them as tools you were no doubt using to find new ways to undermine my authority. The more of you I uncovered, the more I wondered why you worked so hard to keep it hidden in the first place... but of course that was entirely my fault.”

Starscream blinked at him, his spark constricting as he started to have an idea of where this might be going.

“You first came to me as a bright-opticked youngling, ready to take on the world for me, and I was too preoccupied chasing Prime to do anything other than crush everything good about you into the dirt. The second I realized that, all I wanted was to fix it—to see you whole and unfettered, and...”

He stopped and ran a servo over his face for a moment. Starscream could barely draw air into his vents, his spark was hammering so hard.

“What I'm trying to say, Starscream, is that the more I watched you, the more I fell in love with you, and then when we started actually being together... I love you, Starscream. I just do, and it took me too long to realize that. We've wasted too many years fighting already, and I don't want to waste any more.”

Starscream swallowed. This was... Wow. Of the two of them, Megatron had always been the one more willing to voice his feelings for the other, but... not to this extent!

“But we both know that it hasn't always been this way,” the warlord went on. “I have much to answer for in my past behavior toward you. You've shown me that you have feelings for me, but I would not blame you if you still harbored resentment as well.”

Unable to make any real reply, Starscream shook his head frantically. Megatron thought that he was  _ afraid _ of him!? He couldn't let that line of thought continue.

“I know you have always said that you don't fear me,” Megatron continued, as if he'd been reading the seeker's mind, “but Starscream... You still flinch every time I raise my voice, and I know that it's my fault, but it still hurts more than I can bear.”

Starscream stiffened. He hadn't thought it was that noticeable. It wasn't that he consciously thought Megatron was going to hurt him again, but reflexes born of several million years were difficult to quash.

“I may have rushed into things asking you for a sparkling so soon,” Megatron rumbled, and Starscream managed something like a derisive laugh.

_ May have?? _

“But I do want us to be something real, Starscream,” his commander went on, shooting him a disapproving look. “If my actions in the past are preventing that, then please: tell me how to fix it. Because for you—for us—I am willing to put in whatever work is necessary.”

Starscream stared hard into his leader's optics. He wasn't begging, no, because Lord Megatron didn't beg, but there was no doubt in the seeker's mind that he was sincere.

Four million years. Starscream had spent  _ four million years _ chasing the bastard, and now  _ he _ was the one who wanted to make up for lost time? If he had just been able to pull his helm out of his aft sooner, then none of this would have been a problem! Then, maybe Starscream could have...

The Seeker choked on a sob, and his servos flew to his numbed mouth in surprise. Megatron blinked at him, equally surprised and understandably so. Starscream had never cried in front of him—ever. As a couple of tears squeezed from the corners of his lover's optics, though, the old warlord's gaze softened.

“It's been a long road, hasn't it?” he murmured, bringing up a large digit to wipe moisture from the Seeker's cheek. “But we are together now, and all can be as it should at last.”

Starscream tried everything he could think of to stop the flood of tears, but he was tired, he was still overcharged, and Primus damn it, he was fragging in love with Megatron, and the old fool just. Didn't.  _ Get it! _ He probably thought that Starscream was just crying out of joy or relief at hearing how serious he was about their relationship. He didn't understand how every single word he said was just driving the knife deeper and deeper into his second's spark.

“Come here, love,” the warlord growled, gathering the sobbing Seeker into his arms.

The old warlord started making soft tutting noises now and rubbing a servo up and down the seeker's spinal strut. He cupped Starscream's helm with his other servo and peppered a few kisses to the vents on the side. He was murmuring something in old Tarnish, and although Starscream was too tired to bother translating it properly, he could tell it was a poem, and caught the words “love,” “home,” and “forever” in there.

Too much. It was too much.

Starscream clung to his perfectly battle-worn frame, crying harder and harder now. He wanted this—wanted to stay like this for as long as possible, to just _be_ _with Megatron—_ but he knew what Megatron wanted from him. He knew that he couldn't give it to him, and Megatron could _never_ know why.

Which was why Starscream then did perhaps the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his entire life, but in his current muddled state, it was the only thing that made sense.

He pulled away from Megatron slightly and conveyed through gesture that he wanted to say something over the comms. The other mech nodded and told him to go ahead.

_ ::I’ve been sparked for the last month:: _ Starscream sent.

Megatron stared at him like he’d forgotten how language worked for several minutes.

“You…  _ what!? _ ” he finally managed.

Starscream started inventing things as quickly as he could.

_ ::I’m just scared!:: _ he explained.  _ ::I don’t know if I can be a creator, and I love you but this is such a big deal, and I didn’t know how to tell you, and… I’m sorry!:: _

His commander just continued to stare at him, mouth agape and optics blown wide, until suddenly he dove forward without warning and clamped his mouth over the Seeker’s. Starscream gave a cry of alarm and flailed as the onslaught aggravated those few sensors in the lower half of his face that were not completely shut off, and Megatron pulled back, laughing.

“Sorry, sorry!” he gasped, caressing the Seeker’s damaged face and beaming more brightly than should have even been possible with a face like his. “Oh, sweet Primus! Star! Are you really…?”

Well, he couldn’t back out now, so Starscream nodded and pressed his servos to his chest. There were tears running down Megatron’s face too now as the warlord continued to practically squeal with delight and pulled the seeker to him in a crushing embrace. Before Starscream could get air back in his vents, Megatron was lifting him up out of the chair and spinning him round, pressing kisses to his face and laughing in turns.

Then, quite suddenly, Megatron set him back on his pedes and held him out at arms’ length, trying to look stern and failing because of the massive grin that kept trying to split his face.

“Why the  _ frag _ were you  _ drinking  _ if you’re  _ sparked!? _ ” he demanded.

_ ::I’m sorry:: _ Starscream repeated because what else could he say at this point?

“You silly, stupid seeker!” Megatron roared, but it was somewhat ruined by his continued laughter. “We need to get you down to the medbay right away to check on it! You haven’t had any scans yet at all, have you? We’ll be able to do your first together! I can’t wait to see it! Oh, Star! Our sparkling!  _ Our _ sparkling!!”

He bent down to press his lips to the Seeker’s cockpit, and Starscream started to panic. No matter what, they could not step into that medbay together. He needed time to figure out how to deal with this. There had to be something. Surely there was  _ something!  _ He just needed time!

Starscream reached out and wrapped his arms tightly round Megatron’s neck.

_ ::The sparkling will be fine for tonight. It has your stubborn coding, after all. You don’t really think it could be damaged by some high grade, do you?:: _ he sent as he hooked a leg up around the other mech’s hip.  _ ::Let’s wait until morning? I want you. Now.:: _

And good old, reliable Megatron could not resist that after nearly a month of celibacy.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker had heard the distant rumble of the explosion from his trine quarters, and opened their bond curiously to see what the other two had gotten up to. Beside him, Nubby shifted in his recharge, but didn't wake.

It was only a few minutes later when Skywarp reappeared in front of him, slightly dented and scraped, and definitely overcharged.

“T.C., you will not  _ believe _ what just happened!” the teleporter announced, making a beeline for his newspark.

“What exploded?” Thundercracker wanted to know.

“Starscream threw a bunch of potassium in a puddle, but  _ before  _ that...”

Nubby woke and started crying the second his creator picked him up, and Skywarp trailed off with a distracted frown.

“Why's he so upset? Did you forget to fuel him?” he demanded.

“No, but his creator is shouting in his audial,” the other seeker pointed out.

“Oh. Woops. My audials are still a little wonky from the explosion,” Skywarp explained, reverting to a whisper shout as he started rocking his son back and forth. “Anyway...”

Thundercracker had a hard time figuring out exactly what his trinemate was going on about over Nubby's screams and through his mild overcharged slur, but what he got was that it had been a pretty spectacularly Decepticon-esque shindig. Among other things, it seemed that Ramjet had accidentally confessed to being in love with Skywarp, insinuated to Starscream's face that Megatron was abusing him behind closed doors, and also smashed said seeker's face in with a fire extinguisher. Not that Starscream had been entirely innocent in all of this, either. Thundercracker still couldn't quite figure out where the explosion had come into it all.

“So, is Starscream in the medbay now, then?” he wanted to know.

“I dunno. Megatron took him somewhere,” Skywarp yawned, his gaze now fixed indulgently on the newspark that was finally starting to quiet down in his arms. “I just wanted to come home and hold my little Nubby. You know, I think I saw him smile earlier today.”

“It was probably just gas. Newsparks don't show facial expressions until around three months,” Thundercracker told him. “So, what happened to Ramjet?”

“Brig,” Skywarp told him, finally flopping down onto the couch. “Two weeks, limited rations. I'm surprised ole Megs didn't smash  _ his _ face in.”

“I might later,” Thundercracker mused. “He's got a lotta nerve to go messing with both my trinemates at once.”

“I know, right?  _ Love _ … I ask you!” Skywarp gave a little shudder. “Who needs a mate when I’ve already got a perfectly good family?”

Thundercracker smiled and reached over, pulling the other seeker’s helm in to rest on his shoulder.

“I don’t really say it enough, but I’m glad you’re my trinemate,” he announced, and Skywarp laughed.

“Just because I gave you a newspark to spoil, right?” he said, twisting up to look at the other mech.

“Well… that too,” Thundercracker chuckled. He reached a servo down to stroke over Nubby’s helm, and the sparkling shifted his sleepy gaze to him. 

“This little guy; now  _ that’s _ love!” Skywarp yawned.

“That’s for sure,” his trinemate agreed.

“I guess we love Starscream, too,” the purple seeker continued, his voice getting quieter and more indistinct. “I mean, he’s an aft, but he loves us back in his own way.”

Thundercracker smiled to himself and nuzzled the top of the other seeker’s helm. Skywarp did tend to get rather sentimental when he was overcharged.

 

* * *

 

Starscream had never had such a quiet, tender night with Megatron (or with anyone, for that matter). Of course, some of it was because of his own inability to speak, but mostly it seemed that Megatron was trying to prove his capabilities as a potential sire by treating his sparkling's creator like a breakable glass idol. Starscream hadn't thought he would enjoy that sort of thing, but somehow he did.

Now, curled in his sleeping partner's arms with his own frame more loose and relaxed than it had been in weeks, Starscream's mind was still racing.

He needed time—time to think and figure out how to deal with this situation—but it was unlikely Megatron was planning to give him that. Surely, the warlord would want to race him into the medbay first thing in the morning to see the sparkling that didn't exist, and that would be the easy part.

Starscream substituted Skywarp's frame scans for his own all the time when he wanted to be declared fit for active duty sooner than he actually was. He'd just need to find his trinemate's early gestational scans in the database. Newsparks were so delicate in the first trimester that no medic would open a carrier's spark chamber for a visual check unless there was a serious problem. Of course, Hook or Scrapper might blab and tell Megatron what they knew, but Starscream could probably buy them off for the time being.

It was everything after that he needed more time for. What was he going to do? He could always pretend to have a miscarriage. Or maybe he could nab some of Megatron's coding and start actually growing a sparkling in a test tube? He'd never heard of anyone doing it successfully, but he could try. Maybe he could actually get the results inside himself so his commander never need know he'd lied...

Megatron shifted in his sleep and unconsciously pulled Starscream closer to himself. The seeker grunted in annoyance as his damaged nose smooshed slightly against the warlord, and carefully adjusted himself so that it was his audial pressed to the other mech's broad chest instead.

He would figure something out, he told himself as he listened to the faint thrum of Megatron's spark pulsing deep beneath the thick, gray armor. He was Starscream of Vos, the embodiment of speed, cunning, and ingenuity. Somehow, he could figure this out.

He had to.


	10. Family Values

Nubby's cries the next morning when he woke Skywarp for an early fueling were even more piercing than usual. The seeker started to roll over with a groan, rubbing furiously at his forehelm as if he could somehow eradicate the ache there, and found one of his wings trapped beneath something heavy. He cried out in alarm and struggled for a moment before the weight shifted and someone else's wing smacked him in the face.

"Go fuel your sparkling already," Thundercracker's sleep-muddled voice grumbled, and a strong servo shoved Skywarp off the berth.

He hit the floor with a crash and lay there groaning for a moment as his helm continued to swim.

"Nubbyyyy..." he moaned, pressing the backs of his servos into his optics. "Just... stooooop... for a second..."

Unsurprisingly, his son made no response.

"T.C., you do it. I am ill," Skywarp begged.

"You're just hungover. Take care of your son," came the reply.

So much for the power of love and trine bonds, Skywarp thought, firing resentment at Thundercracker as he hauled himself up and fished his newspark out of the tangled insulation covers in his little berth.

Skywarp fueled Nubby on the couch in the living room, trying his best not to nod back off into recharge as he did. Not that he hadn’t done so while fueling his son any number of times in the past, but he was always worried that the little seekerling would choke on his fuel when it happened. He was hoping that Nubby would fuel himself back into recharge (it was barely 5 in the morning, and it had been almost midnight when he’d tucked himself into Thundercracker’s berth), but the sparkling seemed to have decided that today was not a day for recharging.

After over an hour of trying to coax his son back to sleep, Skywarp gave up with a groan and warped the both of them to the mess hall, hoping that it would be back in sufficiently operable condition that he could get himself a cube. He needed to get the both of them into top shape by 1400 that afternoon; that was when Nubby was scheduled to meet his sire.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t realize that it was possible to be this nervous,” Sideswipe declared as he stared into his morning energon.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Sunstreaker assured him, reaching over to clap his twin on the back.

“What’s going on?” Smokescreen asked from across the table. “Is Prowl finally making good on his threat to de-spike you?”

Sideswipe huffed and forced himself to take a gulp of fuel while the other mechs sitting around the table snickered into their own cubes. He was going to need his strength if he was supposed to help steal a newspark from a seeker that afternoon. 

_ ::I still don’t understand why they won’t let you come,:: _ he told Sunstreaker.

_ ::I guess they think you’re more than enough for the job…?:: _ his brother guessed.

_ ::Yeah, me and Prime…:: _

_ ::Well, you proved that Prowl isn’t a big enough deterrent to stop you doing anything stupid,:: _ the other mech pointed out.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Smokescreen demanded. “You both got that face you make when you’re talking about something without the rest of us.”

“Sunny’s just reminding me that you still owe us for that bet about whether or not Prowl watches  _ As the Kitchen Sinks _ ,” Sideswipe told him without missing a beat.

“I need more proof than your word!” the gambler insisted.

“Fine, fine! Just ask him. It’s not like he’s hiding it, or anything,” Sunstreaker suggested.

“I’m not gonna  _ ask _ him!” Smokescreen scoffed.

“Why? Too scared?” the yellow Lamborghini prodded.

While the two of them lapsed into an argument about whether or not Smokescreen found Prowl intimidating, Sideswipe turned his gaze across the mess hall to where Skyfire was seated, surrounded by tittering Aerialbots. His tanks lurched unpleasantly as he watched them. In a few hours, he was going to have a tiny one of  _ those _ following him everywhere. He just hoped to Primus that his son was cute.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp scrubbed every single inch of both himself and his son. Sideswipe may be nothing but a gross Autoboob whose opinion mattered even less than Motormaster’s, but by Primus was Skywarp going to impress him. Once he was satisfied, he stepped out into the hall and almost ran straight into Megatron.

“Sorry, sir!” the seeker mumbled, and then figured he’s save the both of them some time by adding, “Starscream’s not here, just so you know.”

Megatron looked puzzled. “Have you seen him at all today?” he wanted to know.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing, sir,” the purple seeker shrugged. 

Nubby shifted sleepily against Skywarp’s shoulder, and Megatron’s gaze instantly snapped to the newspark. The old warlord’s face started contorting oddly, like he was trying very,  _ very _ hard not to break out into the biggest grin of his life.

“What beautiful things they are, aren’t they?” he sighed.

“Ah… Yes, sir,” Skywarp said, edging carefully away from his commander. “And I’m sure Starscream will show up sooner or later,”

“Yes,” Megatron agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he kept his gaze fixed on Nubby’s gently twitching wings.”Yes, I’m sure he will.”

Skywarp sped off down the hall before the moment could get any weirder, raising Starscream’s comm frequency as he went.

As it turned out, his trine leader was in the medbay, getting his face re-mobilized, and he made it quite clear that Skywarp was not, under any circumstances, to let  _ anyone _ else know so.

“What’s up with Megatron today?” Skywarp asked as Hook finally stepped away from the other seeker.

“How should I know? I’ve been avoiding him since I woke up,” the other seeker grumbled, working his jaw back and forth. “Ugh. Still sore… Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Skywarp shrugged. He would need a more roundabout approach to solving this mystery, it seemed. “How was it last night?”

“Perfectly fine.” Starscream’s optics snapped down to the newspark cradled in his trinemate’s arms. “Let me hold him.”

“So perfectly fine that now you’re avoiding him again?” Skywarp asked as he handed his son over. The sparkling let out what Skywarp took as a happy squeal, whatever Thundercracker said about newsparks not showing emotions until they were three months old, and instantly latched onto the other seeker’s armor. Nubby had missed Starscream. The thought was almost inconceivable.

“ _ Yes! _ ” the other seeker hissed as he carefully cradled the newspark against his shoulder. “We worked things out.”

Skywarp could tell he was lying, but Hook was coming back now with a tube of derma sealant in hand. It would only rile Starscream up if Skywarp tried to discuss his personal business in front of the medic.

“How’s the sparkling doing?” he asked Skywarp, handing the derma sealant to his Air Commander to apply himself.

“He seems fine,” the purple seeker told him. “He eats and sleeps and screams same as always. Starscream, you wanna give him back while you do that?”

“It’s fine,” his trine leader insisted, holding the sparkling in place with one arm while he twisted the cap off the sealant and squeezed some onto a digit. Nubby, as if determined to prove him wrong, chose that moment to flail his arms wildly with another excited-sounding shout.

Hook took him before he could squirm right out of Starscream’s grasp, saying something about giving the sparkling a quick exam, and Skywarp peered nervously at the medic as he walked to the far side of the medbay with the fussing infant.

“What are  _ you _ doing this afternoon?” Starscream asked as he rubbed sealant into the nasty-looking split across his nose. He must have directed all of his self-repair into his jaw or that would have been healed by now, Skywarp reflected.

“Oh, nothing much,” Skywarp shrugged, trying to keep his demeanor casual. “I’ll probably take Nubby for a turn around the ship, and then… I dunno. Come back and read him a datapad? Soundwave said it’s good to read to newsparks.”

Starscream huffed. “ _ You _ are going to  _ read? _ This I’ll have to see.”

Skywarp flushed. “I can read just fine! There just aren’t that many books worth reading.”

“Well, I suppose most of the ones you know best are probably made for sparklings, anyway,” his trine leader smirked. Skywarp was just formulating a reply to that when suddenly the smug look slid off Starscream’s face to be replaced by one of horror. “Primus,” he breathed. “I really hope you fragged Prowl or Ironhide or someone or that sparkling is gonna be dumb as a rock…”

“So what if he is!?” Skywarp demanded. “I get by just fine being ‘dumb as a rock!’”

“True,” Starscream conceded, giving him a critical look. “We’ll just have to find him good trinemates like you did.”

“You and Megatron had better get busy, then, because I don’t know where else we’re gonna get some trinemates from,” the purple seeker snorted.

For some reason, Starscream blanched, and Hook, who was heading back with Nubby in servo, stopped suddenly. The medic reset his optics a couple times, in horror or confusion, Skywarp wasn’t sure.

“You and Lord Megatron are…” he started, turning to Starscream.

“We’re  _ not! _ ” Starscream snarled.

“Yet,” Skywarp muttered, taking his son back.

“But, Starscream, you—”

“You just examined a sparkling! Are you planning to tell us what you found?!” the Air Commander screeched over the top of whatever Hook had been about to say.

The medic looked rather put out at being interrupted, but huffed and turned to Skywarp anyway.

“He’s perfectly healthy,” Hook told him. “Usually, sparklings separated from one or other of their parents develop a little slower than others—sometimes they can even be a bit sickly—but he’s thriving. I suspect it’s a result of being raised by an entire bonded trine instead of just his creator. I’d love to try seeing—”

“You’re not doing any experiments on our newspark, you creepazoid!” Starscream interrupted again, kicking the medic away with one of his thrusters. Hook scowled at him. “Now, hurry up and give me my neural blockers! My jaw is killing me.”

The medic turned away, muttering something about immobilizing Starscream’s entire face this time to save them all the helmache.

“Well, I’ll see you around, then, Star,” Skywarp announced, pulling one of Nubby’s chubby servos out of his turbine before heading for the doors.

“Wait for me later!” Starscream called after him. “I have something good to read to him!”

Skywarp snorted to himself as the medbay doors slid shut behind him. He was certain that the datapad would be something like Nova Prime’s  _ The Art of Conquest _ . If it was, then he would retaliate by reading  _ Towards Peace _ , even if it took him hours to stumble over all the complicated words and phrasing.

For now, though, he had an Autobot to meet.

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready?”

Sideswipe looked up to see Optimus waiting for him just outside the Ark’s entrance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” the Lamborghini sighed.

“Fret not, Sideswipe,” the prime said, laying a heavy servo on his shoulder. “Many years from now, when your son is grown, he will thank you that you had the courage to raise him in the Autobot ways.”

“Yeah… many, many years from now,” Sideswipe grumbled.

“And it will be well worth the wait,” Optimus said, sounding stern. “Given his parentage, and raised in our environment, I cannot imagine but that your son will grow to be a strong, warm-sparked mech with a deep love for the small joys of life. He will be a wonderful addition to yours and Sunstreaker’s lives.”

Well… there could be some truth to that, Sideswipe reflected, thinking of Skywarp and his stupidly playful nature. If the seeker hadn’t been a decepticon, he might have been someone more than a little pleasant to spend time with, and if their son had inherited any of that, then he might not be so bad to bring up. Just so long as he didn’t share his creator’s poor judgment in wingmates...

“Let us proceed,” Optimus rumbled, and the two mechs transformed and rolled out.

It was a bit of a drive to the meeting point. They’d picked somewhere far enough from the Ark that Skywarp wouldn’t be too suspicious, but also far enough from the  _ Nemesis _ that they would be able to get the sparkling back to their own base before any backup had a chance to arrive. Even if Skywarp kept his word and showed up alone, they expected hasty retaliation from his trine, if not the entire Decepticon army, as soon as the seeker realized what was going on. However, Skywarp himself was the only member of the force who could get to them instantly, and he would be… otherwise occupied, by then.

“I will be hidden nearby,” Optimus promised as they approached. “As soon as his guard is lowered, I will make my move.”

Sideswipe sent a blip of acknowledgment in lieu of a nod, since they were both in alt mode still. They’d gone over the plan in detail several times already. He just needed to get Skywarp to let his guard down and keep him distracted long enough for Optimus to sneak up behind the purple seeker and get a grip on him. They were fairly certain that Skywarp wouldn’t attempt to teleport away if it meant dragging Optimus Prime along with him.

“Skywarp will not give up his sparkling easily,” Optimus reminded him. “He will likely beg. Do not be swayed. He is still a Decepticon.”

That was the part that had Sideswipe feeling nervous more than anything else. If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was listening to a desperate creator beg for his sparkling, regardless of what faction. He just hoped that Optimus made it quick.

Skywarp was not yet at the meeting spot—a small clearing in the middle of dense pine forest—when Sideswipe pulled up. The Lamborghini transformed and moved to sit on a fallen tree to wait. This spot was not quite as scenic as where he and the seeker had last met, but it had the advantage of being mostly enclosed. Anyone coming in by air would have a hard time getting a visual on them. Most soldiers would avoid the spot for its lack of exit routes, but Skywarp, being a teleporter, didn’t seem to think of such things.

After a couple of minutes, there was a familiar  _ vvop _ somewhere behind Sideswipe, and he whirled around to see the seeker standing there, glancing around the clearing in mild disorientation before spotting the Autobot.

“Hey!” he called, striding toward him. “Sorry I’m late. I had to shake T.C. You wouldn’t believe how persistent he can be when he thinks you’re up to something! Or… well, you’ve fought him, so actually, I’m sure you can.”

Sideswipe barely heard any of this because his gaze was fixated on the tiny lump of red and black armor curled against the seeker’s shoulder. It felt like his spark had stopped beating, and all of time seemed to stand still for a moment. That… It couldn’t be. But something very deeply primal was telling him that it was.

“Anyway, here he is,” Skywarp said proudly, sliding the sparkling down into his arms so that he could hold him up for the other mech to see. A pair of large, crimson optics blinked open in the middle of a silvery face, and Sideswipe felt every ounce of resentment he had been harboring toward the little thing instantly melt away.

“We call him Nubby, but just because we can’t think of a good enough name yet,” Skywarp was explaining, and Sideswipe nodded along mutely, his attention fixed on those bright optics.

His sparkling.  _ His sparkling. _ This was  _ his _ son—in the mesh!

“Holy Primus,” he breathed in the middle of whatever Skywarp was trying to tell him.

“What's that supposed to mean?” the seeker demanded, his brow furrowing as he pulled his newspark back protectively against his cockpit.

“No, no!” Sideswipe said quickly, holding his servos out defensively. “I didn't mean it like that! I just... It's surprising.”

“This is my son! Don't call him an 'it!'” Skywarp snapped, his open, friendly demeanor of a moment ago starting to fade.

“He's my son, too!” Sideswipe protested.

“Only by coding!”

“He looks just like me!” the Lamborghini blurted, realizing it was true as he said it, and wasn’t  _ that _ a processor twist.

“He has wings! You don't have wings! You don't even have door wings. They're on your arms like the loser grounder that you are.”

“I know! And his wings are adorable!”

Skywarp paused. “Yeah. They are.”

“He's so tiny and his cheeks are so soft and chubby-looking,” the Lamborghini continued. “How do you ever put him down!?”

Skywarp started to smile, looking down at the sparkling fussing against his cockpit. “Isn't he just the most adorable, though?” he cooed. “Even Megatron couldn't resist him.

“You let  _ Megatron _ hold him!?”

“Why not?”

Sideswipe just stared at him, and then down at the tiny seekerling. He couldn't imagine how anyone could ever let Megatron, the lord of all evil and slag-making, within a hundred astrometers of such a sweet and innocent little creature. He was about to point this out when he looked up and spotted movement on the edge of the clearing behind Skywarp. Optimus was making his move.

“Ah… So… How does he get along with the rest of your trine?” he asked, forcing his gaze back to Skywarp’s face instead of the large, blue and red mech creeping out of the treeline.

“He adores Starscream, can you believe it?” Skywarp laughed, bouncing the newspark playfully. “T.C. is great with him, of course, but he just can’t get enough of Screamer, can you, you little weirdo?”

He brought the newspark up close enough to nuzzle the side of his helm and blow a raspberry on one of his chubby little cheeks. Nubby’s optics widened in surprise, and then he waved his arms about with little chirping noises. Something in Sideswipe’s chest tightened as he watched the display of pure affection and saw his prime closing in on the seeker.

“You… you really love him, don’t you?” he said sadly.

“Of course I do!” Skywarp scoffed, looking up at him like he was an idiot. “He’s my sparkling.”

Optimus was right behind him now.

Sideswipe licked his lips.  _ Don’t waver _ , his commander had told him.  _ He is still a Decepticon.  _ But the newspark in Skywarp’s arms was reaching up to grab his creator’s face, and Skywarp was looking at him with such innocent joy...

“I’m real sorry about this, Skywarp,” he said.

“About what?” Skywarp asked, looking up with that stupid grin still fixed on his face, just as Optimus’s servo closed around one of his wings.


	11. A Catastrophe in Three Acts

Even in such a confined area as the  _ Nemesis _ , Starscream had never had much trouble avoiding Megatron. It had become even easier after he’d been taken off-duty to help Skywarp with Nubby. Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid his commander’s comms right now without sending the sap into a panic that he and their fantasy sparkling were dying somewhere.

“What!?” he snapped when he couldn’t ignore the pings any longer.

“Where are you?” Megatron wanted to know.

“In my quarters,” the seeker lied, settling further into the nook he’d found himself in the main hangar.

“You’re avoiding me again,” the other mech accused.

“Am not either,” Starscream huffed.

“Aren’t you?”

This last question was spoken not over the comms, but aloud and just to Starscream’s left. The seeker started violently, and didn’t quite manage to get his thrusters ignited before his commander’s massive frame had blocked his path to the open door.

“I’m not avoiding you!” Starscream hastily protested. “I’m just queasy! I wanted fresh air, and I thought you’d say no.”

Megatron’s eyebrows rose.

“I’d be happy to accompany you if you want some air,” he assured his second. “But you’re right in assuming that I don’t want you going out alone—for obvious reasons.”

Starscream made a noise of frustration and folded his arms across his cockpit. Megatron’s gaze snapped to the region of his spark chamber, and his optics softened before falling to the seeker’s gestation chamber.

“Come,” Megatron invited, extending a servo. “Let’s go have a look at our sparkling.”

And Starscream felt every single plan he’d had to fudge his way through this melt away in the warmth of the old warlord’s smile. He deflated, and took a deep breath, hoping that he wouldn’t cry again. It just wasn’t fair. Here he was trying to protect Megatron from the truth, but why did that mean he had to hurt so much? He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Megs?” he started, his voice sounding strange and small.

“What is it, love?” the older mech asked. He stepped forward, reaching his servo now as if to caress the seeker’s helm.

Frag, but the bastard had softened and become so much more than either of them deserved. Starscream reached up and intercepted the touch, clasping the worn, familiar servo in both of his own for something to ground him as he continued.

“Do you remember that time when the Autobots raided our entire energon store? The one that I was supposed to be watching?”

Megatron frowned.

“Not especially, no. Why?” he wanted to know.

Of course he didn’t. That moment had hung somewhere in the back of Starscream’s mind every day for the last two million years, and Megatron didn’t even remember.

“Starscream? You’re shaking,” the other mech said, his voice tinged with concern, and another servo came out to engulf the seeker’s shoulder. “Is something wrong? You’re not… Did something happen to the sparkling after all!?”

Starscream quickly shook his helm.

“I mean… I guess in a way, you could say it did, but… two million years ago,” he said. There was a ringing sound filling his audials now, and an unpleasant taste in the back of his mouth.

“Starscream, what are you talking about?” Megatron demanded, his servos tightening.

Servos… Those massive servos gripping his plating until it crumpled, crushing and tearing and a massive weapon that he didn’t have the strength to dodge aimed down at him and—

Hang on.

This wasn’t his. It wasn’t even his memory, it was…

“SKYWARP!” Starscream gasped, jolting back to the present. The idiot had said he was going to go read to his son, so why was he now apparently outside the base and under attack!?

“What—” Megatron started, but Starscream was already breaking out of his commander’s grasp. Whatever was going on, he needed to get to Skywarp as quickly as possible.

He flipped into a transformation sequence and blasted up the exit shaft, Megatron’s confused shouts drowned by the sound of his own engines. Well, that was something he was just going to have to deal with later, Starscream reflected as he let the pull of his trine bond guide him toward land.

 

* * *

 

Fear flooded all of Skywarp's systems as the servo closed around his wing.

“Skywarp,” said a deep and ominously familiar voice. “Relinquish the sparkling and we will allow you to leave unharmed.”

The seeker twisted around to find himself staring up at none other than Optimus slagging Prime, and the fear turned to utter terror. His first instinct was to warp away, but of course he couldn't do that while the Prime was holding his wing.

“You planned this, didn't you!?” he shouted accusingly at Sideswipe, trying to twist out of the the Autobot leader's grasp. “I trusted you!”

Sideswipe had the decency to look completely miserable with shame as Optimus tightened his grip and Skywarp started to cry out in pain, the plating of his wing crumpling easily beneath that powerful blue servo. Nubby began to wail, sensing his creator's panic. Skywarp pulled a blaster from his subspace and whipped back around to aim it at the Prime. A second blue servo closed over his before he could fire and  _ crushed _ .

“We do not wish to harm you any more than necessary,” Optimus announced over the seeker's screams.

“Leave me alone!” Skywarp wailed, now kicking at his captor and struggling desperately. “He's  _ my _ sparkling! You can't have him! Help! Starscream! T.C.! HELP!!”

“This is necessary,” Prime assured him, reaching now for the screaming ball of armor clutched to Skywarp's chassis.

“NO!!” the seeker howled. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. He could feel his trine prodding at him through their bond—Thundercracker trying to reassure him and Starscream panicking just as much as he was—but they were all the way back at base. They would never make it before Prime had deactivated him and waltzed off with his sparkling. Why had he come out here? Why had he trusted a fragging Autobot!?

He managed to get a thruster up and ignited it against Prime's abdominal armor. Optimus grunted with the pain, but then grabbed hold of Skywarp's ankle and twisted that, too. The connections in his leg snapped and the fire in his thruster went out. The larger mech brought his pede down hard on the seeker's other ankle before he could try the trick again.

Skywarp collapsed in a sobbing bundle of pain, curled around his sparkling as the Prime dropped back down on top of him and started attempting to wrench his arm away from his treasure.

“Optimus, do we really have to...” he heard Sideswipe venture somewhere in the background.

“This is what must be done to prevent one of our own from being corrupted by Megatron's evil,” Optimus cut him off, now squeezing the seeker's elbow.

“He's _mine!_ ” Skywarp wailed, clawing at Prime with his broken servo. “Please, Prime! He's _my_ _son!_ Don't, please! You can't—GYAAARRGH!!”

He devolved into a choked scream of pain as the plating in his elbow gave way and the Prime's digits crushed the gears and tubing underneath. His lower arm went limp, leaving him with no further way to prevent Optimus from plucking his sparkling right out of his arms.

“NOOOOOO!!!!” the seeker shrieked, his throat stinging with the strain. “Give him back! Give him back, please!”

He couldn't even get to his pedes to follow. He had to drag himself after on his knees and one good elbow as Optimus began walking away, making hushing noises to his traumatized son, and Skywarp felt like his spark was splitting in two. There had to be something he could do—something he could offer.

“I'll... I'll give you intel!” he blurted through his tears. “I'm Starscream's trinemate; I know lots of important information! I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just please don't take my son!”

“There is no intel you could give us that would be worth an innocent new life,” Optimus rumbled, turning to regard him with something like pity in his optics.

“He's... he's my son...” Skywarp choked again, trying to find any weapon system on his body that wasn’t damaged beyond use.

“He is not only  _ your _ son,” Optimus declared. He stepped over to Sideswipe then and offered him the little red bundle of flailing limbs. The Lamborghini hesitated, looking to Skywarp with an expression of uncertain horror, and then he accepted the package.

Rage instantly replaced some of the terror and desperation in Skywarp's systems, and it occurred to him suddenly that, while teleporting onto the bridge of the  _ Nemesis _ with Optimus Prime in tow would be one of the worst ideas he'd ever had, doing so with Sideswipe would have relatively manageable consequences. He gritted his teeth and activated his warp drive, aiming for a spot just over the grounder's shoulders.

But when he popped into existence there, he found himself meeting Optimus's fist, swinging directly at his face. The seeker went somersaulting back across the ground. He skidded to a halt just long enough to register that his nose was probably broken before he felt a large pede come down on one of his turbines.

“I am afraid that we cannot have you following us in any capacity,” Optimus announced gravely, and Skywarp looked up to find the Prime's rifle aimed right at his cockpit.

Before he could react, a volley of shots had melted the glass and pierced his inner plating. As his fuel levels started dropping, an error message flared across his HUD:

**WARP SYSTEMS COMPROMISED**

“Please...” he managed to choke out one last time before he slipped offline.

 

* * *

 

 

Thundercracker had apparently blasted out of the  _ Nemesis’s _ hangar only moments after Starscream had, doubtless leaving Megatron even more confused and frustrated than before if the increasingly insistent comms Starscream was getting him were anything to go by. The seeker ignored him, but kept up a steady back and forth ping with his other trine mate as they got closer to their destination.

Skywarp was a significant distance from the shore, and his spark signature was weakening. Something terrible had happened, and all Starscream could think was that he'd probably had his son with him. Hurting Skywarp was bad enough, but if anyone had done  _ anything _ to that perfect little newspark, he was going to shove Megatron's fusion cannon up their aft and fire it until it lost charge.

His panic only intensified when he finally caught a flash of purple through the trees beneath him. He flipped into bipedal mode and descended on his unconscious trinemate in a frantic mess.

“Warp!” he screeched, his servos hovering over the scorched hole in the other seeker's cockpit. There was fuel leaking everywhere and he couldn't tell if his trinemate's ventilation systems were even still online. “Warp, please! Say something!  _ Do _ something! BE OKAY!”

There was a sound of choked static, and one of Skywarp's optics flickered back online. Starscream gasped with relief and seized the other seeker's face between his own servos.

“S'ar...?” Skywarp mumbled, his voice weak and full of static.

“What happened?” his trineleader demanded, now taking in some of his other injuries. “Warp, who did this? Where's Nubby!? Talk to me!”

“Pr....prime... gone... hel..p...” Skywarp managed, his face screwing up slightly as a couple of tears leaked from the corner of his optic.

Unbridled fury surged through Starscream's frame as the words sank in.

Prime. Optimus Prime had come through here, destroyed his trinemate's warp drive, crushed his ankles, punched him in the face, and  _ wrenched his sparkling from his servos!? _ No one treated his family like this and got away with it. He didn't care if it was Optimus Prime or Primus himself, he was going to slag the living daylights out of the fragger.

Starscream rose to his pedes just as Thundercracker touched down behind him. The blue jet took in the scene, made a desperate sort of keening noise, and lunged for his injured trinemate.

“Get him back to base,” Starscream ordered. “I have things to do.”

“Wait, Star! Where are you... STARSCREAM!” Thundercracker called after him, but the other seeker had already taken off.

One of the many benefits of Autobots not having flight capable alt modes was that they always left a trail to follow and they could never get very far. It was mere seconds before Starscream found the highway they must have escaped to, and only minutes after that before he was bearing down on the two of them—Prime and one of those horrible twins. Some tiny remnant of reason prevented him strafing them, remembering that one of them was likely carrying Nubby, and he dropped down on top of the red Lamborghini instead, punching straight through his canopy with a shriek.

Sideswipe howled in pain and swerved, trying to throw the seeker. Starscream dug his claws in and aimed a nullray at the Autobot's hood, but didn't get a chance to fire before a much larger frame barreled into him, sending him sprawling down the freeway with what turned out to be Optimus Prime on top of him.

Starscream managed to get the barrel of his weapon under the truck's chin even as they were still skidding across the pavement and fired. The Prime's heavy plating protected him from critical damage, but it was enough to have him rolling off the jet, servos grasping at his injured throat and face plating. The seeker rolled to his feet and charged once more at Sideswipe, who had transformed back to bipedal mode. He had Skywarp's son cradled against his chest.

“Wait, Starscream!” the Autobot protested, one arm outstretched in supplication as he backed away from the enraged seeker. “He might get hurt if we fight!”

But Starscream was beyond words by that point. He raised his nullray with a snarl, and Sideswipe's optics went practically white with horror before he fired the cannon mounted on his shoulder.

Starscream ignited his thrusters and shot forward to dodge the blast, launching a barrage of his own weapons systems as he went. He was careful to aim only at the grounder's legs so as not to harm the sparkling. Most of his shots hit home, and Sideswipe fell to his knees with a howl of pain. He raised his blaster, but Starscream was close enough to knock it aside by then and punch the Lamborghini across his stupid, silver face. He was just charging his nullrays to blow the blasted thing's head clean off when something hit him in the side.

At first, all he felt was surprise and the sensation of air forced suddenly from his intakes. Then, he thought to look down and saw the ax that had sliced straight through his abdominal armor, stopping only when it hit his spinal strut.

“Wha...?” he spluttered before it pulled out again with a screech of metal on metal and a spray of energon.

Starscream stumbled backward, clutching at the gaping hole in his side, which his internal components seemed intent on spilling out of. A dull fire spread through his systems from the point of injury, clouding his processor and choking his intakes.

“Surrender, Starscream,” Optimus ordered, pointing the energon-smeared ax at him again.

“Never!” the seeker snarled, even as he collapsed to the pavement.

“I'm afraid you are too valuable a prisoner to allow to escape,” the Prime was saying, pulling Starscream's nullrays from his barely resistant arms. “We will provide you with medical treatment upon return to our base.”

“No....” Starscream tried to access his comm, to call for Thundercracker or... or Megatron! Megatron would save him for sure! But his fuel levels were dropping rapidly and nonessential systems were already starting to go offline. “Megatron... will...” he tried to make some kind of threat, but his glossa felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Yes, Megatron will bargain desperately for you, I'm sure,” Optimus said, laying a hand on the seeker's helm as if he were trying to comfort him. “Just rest for now.”

The last thing Starscream saw before slipping into stasis was Sideswipe trying to comfort Skywarp's screaming newspark.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker felt numb. One trinemate down he could deal with, but both of them? He couldn’t even wrap his processor around the concept. His spark was being ripped in two and his processor had stalled in self defense.

_ :...ates? Thund...respond. Thundercracker!?: _

The shock of hearing Soundwave shouting at him over the comms jolted the blue seeker out of his trance. He had alerted the communications officer when he and Starscream had left the base. Further reinforcements wouldn’t be far behind, but they were already too late.

“Um… I… C-commander Starscream…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Medical assistance required… Skywarp is down. He… sparkling… gone…”

Another voice came over the comm line, this one gruff and impatient: Megatron.

_ :Thundercracker, what is going on!?: _ his commander demanded.

“I… I don’t know,” the seeker confessed, trying to force his attention back to the clamp he’d been putting over one of Skywarp’s fuel lines. “Skywarp is… And he said Prime was here, and… Starscream… went alone… He’s gone. I can’t… He’s gone!”

The world was spinning around Thundercracker. Skywarp was fading. He couldn’t feel Starscream. He’d known he should have stopped him going after Prime alone, but Skywarp was losing energon and had been for a while. He’d prioritized, and now he was losing both of them.

_ :WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S GONE!?: _ Megatron roared, and Thundercracker winced. His servos were fumbling and he couldn’t get the clamp on Skywarp’s line. The energon just kept spilling out of it in a slow, thick stream. How much had he lost already?

“P-please, sir…” Thundercracker tried, his vision swimming in front of him. “I… can’t....”

**WARNING: SEVERE SPARK STRAIN. EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.**

The words flashed across his HUD, and the seeker grabbed at his chest with a desperate cry as he felt his spark spasm within its casing.

“No...” he whimpered, collapsing on top of his unconscious trinemate.

_ :Thundercracker? Thundercracker, answer me!: _ Megatron was still shouting at him, but the seeker didn’t have the energy to reply anymore.

He couldn’t be passing out right now—Skywarp needed him!—but it hurt so much. His processor was fritzing as his spark searched desperately for two more that it had never been so completely cut off from before. Skywarp’s inert frame beneath him was the only thing he was aware of as his vision turned to static and the strength seeped out of his limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this was actually the first chapter I wrote for this story.


	12. Hindsight is 50/50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for update delays! I kept falling asleep every time I tried to work out the edits this chapter needed. ^^;

Sideswipe had never felt so guilty in his entire life. He had slagged Skywarp and his trinemates plenty of times in the past, but those times hadn’t left him holding a newspark that was screaming for a creator it would never be allowed to see again. 

When they got back to base, Ratchet and First Aid were the first ones to meet them, Optimus having sent ahead that they would require emergency medical treatment. Ratchet took one look at the distraught sparkling and his face started to darken like storm clouds rolling in over the mountainside. 

“Optimus, that had  _ better _ not be what I think it is,” he growled. “And it  _ really _ had better not be the emergency patient you mentioned!”

“That is Sideswipe's son,” Optimus confirmed as he flipped out of alt mode. “And no, the patient is here.”

The back of his trailer opened, and Ratchet’s fury somehow increased. 

“ _ What _ did you  _ DO!? _ ” the medic roared, clutching at his helm in horror. 

“What was necessary,” Optimus told him. “Please ensure that Starscream does not perish. I have reason to believe that his capture may even prove a valuable step toward the end of the war.”

Sideswipe felt his tanks churn as the medics pulled the Decepticon from the trailer, Ratchet still arguing with their leader on the whether or not Megatron could ever be what anyone would call ‘reasonable’ about having his boyfriend/second-in-command/Air Commander brutalized and kidnapped. Skywarp's cheerful voice still rang in the Lamborghini's processor:  _ He adores Starscream, can you believe it? _ He quickly shielded the newspark from the carnage.

“Sides! Sides, you okay?” Sideswipe turned to see his brother hurrying toward him from inside the Ark. “Woah! Is that it? Hang on… Is _that_ _Screamer!?_ ”

“Sideswipe, bring your son along to the medbay,” Optimus ordered, straightening up from where he’d been helping the medics with their prisoner. “We shall have to evaluate his physical condition as soon as possible.”

Sideswipe nodded, but didn’t move until his twin started pulling on him. Other ‘bots stared and whispered as the unusual procession hurried through the halls; the newspark still screaming in Sidewsipe’s arms catching everyone’s attentions and the Decepticon on Ratchet’s stretcher keeping it.

“You hurt?” Sunstreaker asked as they went, and Sideswipe shook his head.

“Just some scorched plating.”

They finally reached the relative privacy of the medbay, and Sideswipe collapsed gratefully on the nearest berth while the medics hurried into the annex. The sparkling was still crying as much as ever. 

“Why won't he stop?” Sunstreaker asked, making a face. 

“I don't know. Optimus, do you think maybe he got hurt?”

The Prime turned away from a hushed conversation with Ironhide, who had joined them at some point, and made his way over. 

“Allow me?” he asked, reaching out his servos. 

Sideswipe immediately handed over the seekerling. His leader took the newspark and began carefully turning him this way and that, searching for any kind of injury. 

“He seems to be whole,” the Prime eventually declared. “Perhaps he just needs some time to figure out who you are. I can—”

“Sparks above!” Ironhide despaired, throwing his servos in the air. “The poor little thing's prolly  _ hungry _ , numb-helms!! Not ta mention traumatized! Ya jus’ separated ‘im from ‘is entire world! What were ya thinkin’, Prime!? Did  _ Prowl _ know ‘bout this!?”

“I was thinking of the future, Ironhide,” Optimus told him, somewhat defensively. “And of course Prowl was aware. Though he did request to be taken off the mission, he voiced only preliminary objections.”

“Course he did! He respects ya too much ta tell ya when yer bein’ an aft, Prahm!!”

_ ::Woah! I knew Ironhide was bold, but I've never seen him give it to Prime like this before!:: _

Sideswipe glanced over at his brother, who was watching their superiors’ argument like Sideswipe did a season finale of  _ As the Kitchen Sinks _ .

“What would you have had me do, old friend?” Optimus asked, gently bouncing the seekerling still cradled in his servos. “Leave a defenseless newspark who shares coding with one of our own comrades in the care of Decepticons?”

“I'd’ve had ya bring ‘is creator along, not Megatron's current booty call!!” the old mech roared.

Optimus was looking nonplussed, like never in all of his planning had this occurred to him. 

“I suppose… we could offer Megatron a trade?” he suggested. 

“There ain't no point now!” Ironhide grumped. “Could prolly get a lot better’n Skywarp for Screamer, an’ I don’ see the point in wastin’ a perfectly good hostage now you got ‘im. But that don’ mean—”

Whatever it did or didn't mean, Sideswipe never got to hear because just then the shipwide alarm system started blaring and both officers looked up sharply. 

“I'm on my way,” Optimus told someone over the comms before depositing the sparkling back in Sideswipe's arms. 

“What's going on?” the Lamborghini called to Ironhide over the din.

“Hostage negotiations,” the other mech replied as he hurried past.”You come too, Streaker. Buckethead done brought the whole crew with ‘im.”

Sunstreaker gave Sideswipe an apologetic shrug before following their officers out the door, leaving his brother alone with the hysterical newspark. 

The alarms stopped a moment later, though Sideswipe could still hear them going on outside the medbay. Meanwhile, his son continued to cry. 

“Gonna need a name for you,” Sideswipe murmured as he awkwardly attempted to cradle the squirming thing up against his shoulder. It was something he felt like he’d seen creators doing back in the almost-forgotten days when he’d actually seen any on a regular basis. “Guess Skywarp never could pick one, and Nubby isn’t a real name.”

The newspark kept crying, his tiny fists waving about frantically. Sideswipe started awkwardly patting his back.

“Guess it should be a seeker name… How about, like, Doomwing?” he mused. “Nah, too Decepticon-y. Umm… Sunray? No, Sunny will get a big head if I name you after him. You sure are noisy, though, aren’t you?”

Which gave him a halfway decent idea.

“What about Sonic?” he suggested. “Cause you’re gonna be fast, and you’re pitted noisy.”

His son made no reaction to the name, but Sideswipe rather liked it. Somehow, he felt just that much more possessive of the sparkling too, now that he’d given him a name. It made the problem of Sonic’s crying a bit less annoyance and a bit more concerning, too.

Sideswipe glanced over at the annex door, wondering how long it would take Ratchet to get Starscream back to a stable condition. Ironhide had suggested the crying might be because the little seeker was hungry, but Sideswipe wasn't sure what it was okay to give such a young newspark. He had some inkling about them nursing off their creators, and hoped Ratchet had some other way of filtering the fuel. For now some low grade might do the trick, though, right?

He was just looking around for some when his comm pinged with an incoming call from Optimus himself. 

“Sir?” Sideswipe answered over the newly-christened Sonic's crying.

“I must speak with Ratchet, but he is not answering his comms,” his leader explained.

“Uhh…” Sideswipe glanced over at the annex door, wondering if holding his son up as a shield would work any better on Ratchet than it had on Starscream. “Sure, I'll get him for you.”

It took several minutes of pounding before First Aid opened the door, during which Sideswipe could hear snippets of an argument that Optimus seemed to be having with Megatron cutting in and out on the comm line. 

“--absolutely no right--”

“--ties of coding--”

“--kidnap  _ your _ conjunx--”

“--not your conjunx--”

“--the point--”

“-- _ did _ kidnap her--”

“--NOT THE POINT!!”

The door finally cracked open, and First Aid poked his helm out. 

“Ratchet says he won't talk to Optimus unless someone's dying,” the medic announced. 

Oh, brother. Sideswipe was about to be in the middle of one of Ratchet’s infamous silent treatments. 

“Prime?” he called back over the comm.

“Yes, Sideswipe?”

How did you tell Optimus Prime that his chief medical officer was giving him the silent treatment?

“Uh… he says he's too busy to talk right now,” he eventually settled on. 

“Please inform him that Megatron refuses to come to any kind of agreement until he receives a report on the status of Starscream's health.”

Sideswipe relayed this to First Aid, who disappeared into the annex again for a moment before returning to report: “He says, ‘Tell that rusted tyrant that just because  _ his _ medics can't put Starscream back together properly for him doesn't mean that I suffer the same shortcomings.’”

“He says he'll be fine,” Sideswipe relayed.

There was some discussion on the other end, and then: “Megatron is requesting a detailed report of Starscream's vitals.”

Sideswipe transferred this information to First Aid, who disappeared again.

“Tell him he's stable and that's all he needs to know!” Ratchet called from within the annex. 

“Uh… I don't think he's gonna give it out,” Sideswipe informed his leader, “but he says he's stable.”

There was a much longer pause this time, and when Optimus came back, there was a new urgency to his voice. 

“Spark signature!” he said. “Ask Ratchet  _ how many _ spark signatures Starscream has!”

Sideswipe had never been the brightest of the bunch, but he wasn't  _ that _ slow. 

“Um… Ratchet?” the Lamborghini called hoarsely, pushing into the annex with his son held tight against his chassis. Starscream was lying half-disassembled on the berth in the middle of the room, and Ratchet was in the middle of welding the seeker's fuel tank back together. He looked up crossly as Sideswipe entered. 

“What in the—”

“Ratchet, I think Starscream might've been sparked!!” Sideswipe cut him off.

“He wasn’t,” Ratchet said without even considering it. “Now get out.”

“But… but Megatron asked to know how many spark signatures he has…”

The medic leveled him with a death glare.

“Sideswipe, I am staring into his internals right now, and I assure you that even  _ Carly _ could probably tell you he  _ isn't sparked.  _ He doesn't have a fragging gestation chamber! Now  _ get out  _ and focus on _ your _ seeker!!”

“Optimus—” Sideswipe started as he hurried back out of the room. 

“I heard,” his leader assured him, sounding vastly relieved. “Thank you, Sideswipe.”

A much, much longer silence followed, and then, the whole base suddenly shook as if… Well, as if Devastator and Menasor had both jumped on it at the same time. 

Sideswipe clutched his son more tightly as dust curled down from the ceiling. He thought of comming his twin to find out what was going on, but if Sunstreaker was fighting, Sideswipe didn't want to risk distracting him. He was still in a quandary over the matter when Ratchet came storming back out of the annex a moment later.

“For spark’s sake! Can’t he deescalate  _ anything _ today!?” the medic roared, slamming a soddering iron onto a nearby counter before rounding on Sideswipe. “I’m about to have more patients, so you two need to clear out for now. Go to your quarters and don’t try to feed him anything, don’t set him down anywhere, and don’t drop him!”

“I’m not gonna—” Sideswipe started to protest, but Ratchet was already shooing him away. “Wha… But… How do I get him to stop crying!?” he spluttered.

“He’s barely a month old,” Ratchet huffed. “He’ll just fall asleep soon enough. Now git! I’ll send someone over with fuel for him soon as there’s someone to spare.”

Sideswipe shuffled nervously until it became apparent this was all the instruction Ratchet intended to give him, at which point he took a steadying vent and started off toward his quarters, holding his son as unobtrusively as it was possible to hold something that was screaming loud enough to rival the distant explosions of the battle outside.

 

* * *

 

Sonic was still crying when Ratchet’s promised assistance finally showed up nearly an hour later in the form of Skyfire, holding a small cube of what Sideswipe could only assume was newspark formula in one servo. The Lamborghini sighed with relief when the shuttlebot first stepped into his quarters, but that evaporated when he caught sight of the other mech’s face. He had  _ never _ seen Skyfire angry before, and it was sort of terrifying.

“Give him here,” the mech snapped, and Sideswipe handed his son over without argument. “Bunch of senseless ground-pounding…” Skyfire muttered under his breath, cradling the tiny sparkling in one massive servo and offering him the fuel with the other. The seekerling latched onto the feeding tube and started suckling eagerly, blissfully silent for the first time since Optimus had snatched him from his creator.

“Hey!” the Lamborghini protested. “I don’t call  _ you _ names!”

“No, but you do every other flyer or seeker you’ve ever met!” the shuttle snarled, pulling Sonic closer to his cockpit as if to shield him from the vitriol going on above him. “They’re not mindless drones, Sideswipe! They’re ‘bots with real emotions! That doesn’t change just because you don’t understand them!”

“It doesn’t change the fact that they’re our enemies, either!” Sideswipe countered.

“And just how much has Cybertron changed that kidnapping your enemies’ offspring is an acceptable tactic now!?” Skyfire demanded.

“It’s not… He’s my son, too!” the grounder pointed out.

“He’s a seeker! He needs to be raised by other seekers!”

“It’s not like this was  _ my _ idea!” Sideswipe wailed, holding his servos out in supplication. “ _ I _ don’t want to raise a seekerling! I don’t want to raise  _ any _ sparkling, and I didn’t want to have to listen to Skywarp begging for him, either, but nobody seems to  _ care _ what I think! I’m just the kid’s sire, after all! Why should my opinion matter!?”

Skyfire blinked at him in surprise for a second, and then he seemed to deflate slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, sinking down onto Sunstreaker’s berth. It groaned under his weight, but held. “I’m just upset.”

“That’s… understandable,” Sideswipe conceded, moving closer so he could watch his son’s optics flick around at them both as he fueled. “I understand Optimus’s reasoning behind it, but it’s not like I don’t feel guilty stealing a newspark from his creator—even if he is mine.”

“Yeah, I’m upset about the kidnapping, too, but…” Skyfire seemed to deflate even more, and then continued in a rush. “Also Starscream. I know he’s on the other side, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was my best friend at one point, and… Everyone seems to think I shouldn’t be upset about anything happening to him, but I am.”

“Oh,” Sideswipe remarked, unsure how to respond when he was also among the number who didn’t think Skyfire should be upset about Starscream getting injured. “Um… Skywarp said that Sonic likes Starscream, too, so… I guess you aren’t the only one anymore?”

Skyfire snorted, stroking a thumb over the sparkling’s helm. “Surprisingly smart kid, considering his heritage.”

Sideswipe frowned, unsure if that was a complement to his son or an insult to either himself or Skywarp—or possibly both.

“So… how are things going with the Cons outside? Any idea?” he asked instead.

“Megatron’s pissed as Unicron’s aft wings, and honestly, I agree with the mech for once,” Skyfire told him, a glint of anger flaring up in his optics again. “Last I heard, he was missing an arm, and Optimus and Soundwave were both trying to convince him to retreat for now.”

“Do you think he will?” Sideswipe wondered.

“You know his attack patterns better than I do,” the other mech shrugged. “But you guys took out his entire command trine, captured his lover, and kidnapped a miracle sparkling—who, may I remind you, is the son of said lover’s trinemate, which makes him very nearly family for Megatron—so I wouldn’t expect him to give up anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but… it’s Megatron,” Sideswipe scoffed. “He doesn’t  _ really _ care about anyone but himself.”

Skyfire gave him a pitying look. “You folks have been fighting this war too long. All you see anymore is faction insignias.”

“You’re trying to tell me that you think Megatron—big, bad Megatron who would rather wait until our entire planet was burned out than give in to his enemies—actually has emotions?” the Lamborghini questioned, eyebrows raised.

“I dunno. He’s down one limb and still fighting,” Skyfire shrugged. “Hound said he was crying at one point, but I don’t know if that’s truth or bluster. Either way, that doesn’t sound like a mech who only cares about himself.”

With everything else that had happened today, Sideswipe was  _ not _ ready to try wrapping his processor around the idea of Megatron having the same kinds of emotions as any other mech. He pushed the thought aside to hopefully examine never again, and turned back to his son. The newspark was starting to drift off to sleep in Skyfire’s servos, the fueling tube still in his mouth.

“I’m gonna need to learn a lot more about sparklings,” he sighed, reaching out to take one of the seekerling’s tiny servos in his own.

“You said his name was Sonic?” Skyfire wanted to know. “That doesn’t sound very Decepticon-y.”

“I just named him now,” Sideswipe confessed. “Skywarp still hadn’t. They were calling him ‘Nubby,’ and I felt like he should have something better.”

Skyfire hummed in understanding. “Skywarp is never going to stop trying to get him back, you know.”

“Again, this wasn’t  _ my _ bright idea,” the Lamborghini pointed out. “The ones you should be lecturing are Optimus and Prowl.”

“You could’ve said no,” the shuttlebot reminded him.

“And  _ you _ could have taken that newspark back out to the Cons when you came in here instead of just sitting there fueling him,” Sideswipe returned.

Skyfire sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Primus, this is one big clusterfrag. I sure hope Optimus knows what he’s doing.”

Sideswipe wholeheartedly agreed.

 

* * *

 

The Decepticons went home, but not until Megatron collapsed from energon loss. Skyfire got called away to the medbay to help with all the injured ‘bots coming in from the fight, but not before giving Sideswipe some basic advice on newspark care.

“Not that I’ve ever had one myself, but they were a lot more common back when I was on Cybertron,” the shuttlebot explained.

Sonic had stayed blissfully asleep after Skyfire had fueled him, and the shuttlebot had made a nest of sorts for him out of the insulation covers. Sidewsipe was sitting on the end of his berth, watching the sparkling’s fragile little bubble of a cockpit rise and fall when his twin commed him. Sideswipe had been able to tell that Sunstreaker was among the injured, but it wasn’t anything serious enough that he had been concerned.

_ ::I’m fine,:: _ his twin assured him once they were connected.  _ ::Just took a blast to the shoulder is all.:: _

_ ::What about everyone else?:: _ Sideswipe wanted to know.

_ ::Cuts and scrapes. Prime took a decent hig to the leg, Blaster has some twisted abdominal plating… Oh, and Prowl totally just froze up right at the beginning of the battle and took Megatron’s pede to the helm. It was kind of hilarious to see, even if it was a pretty bad knock.:: _

_ ::Jazz must be upset, though...:: _

_ ::Eh… he said if Prowl wakes up a few IQ points the lesser for it, then it’ll be our win. Anyway, Ratchet said to have you bring Skywarp Jr back down here when he’s gotten the worst of it out of the way, so… In an hour or thereabouts?:: _

Sideswipe didn’t fancy waiting any longer than he already had, but he also didn’t fancy trying to pick up his son and thereby risk waking him up again just yet. So, he continued watching the little red and black ball of armor recharge, tiny limbs twitching occasionally.

His son.

It was still difficult to grasp, even though everything in his coding told him it was true. He’d gone out for a walk one night, fraternized a little too hard with the enemy, and now here he was—a sire to a seeker. And his teammates were getting injured to protect his unwanted claim over this newspark.

Was it completely unwanted, though?

Sideswipe frowned and reached over to lay a careful servo on his son’s cockpit. The sparkling’s armor was so thin that he could feel his rapid sparkbeat through it with almost no interference. He certainly still hadn’t wanted a son that morning, but now that he’d seen him—now that he’d  _ held _ him—he wasn’t so sure anymore. Sonic was tiny and useless and noisy, but he was also very much alive and real and full of potential. In a way, he was a bit like their human allies, except way cuter and someday he would grow into an actual adult Cybertronian. Would it be such a terrible thing to have a front row seat in watching that happen?

The Lamborghini was still lost down that train of thought when he got a comm from Ratchet.

_ :Bring the seekerling to the medbay. Stat.: _

He sighed and started trying to work his servos under the tiny frame without waking up his sparkling. He was not successful, and spent most of his walk to the medbay trying to get Sonic to stop crying again.

There weren’t many other ‘bots in the halls by then (most of them would be resting up from the fight somewhere), but those few that were all stopped to stare as Sideswipe hurried past, trying to shield his sparkling from view.

“‘S  _ that _ what all the fuss is about? Hardly seems worth it…” he heard Cliffjumper muttering to Hound as he passed them.

“It’s a newspark, Cliff! ‘Course it’s worth it!” the other mech scolded.

Miraculously, Sonic stopped crying at some point, and seemed to be resting comfortably in Sideswipe’s arms when they got to the medbay, staring at the Ark’s orange walls in apparent wonder.

The medbay was mostly empty by the time Sideswipe got there, though not quite so much as he would have liked. Prime was seated on one of the berths, a long weld running the length of his left thigh, and Ratchet was currently engaged in what looked to be a hushed but heated conversation with him. First Aid was replacing a nanite drip on a berth in the corner where Blaster was laid out cold. On the far side of the room, Sideswipe caught sight of his twin and Jazz huddled around a third occupied berth, sniggering wildly. He recognized Prowl’s pedes sticking out between them and headed over, curiosity piqued.

Sunstreaker noticed him coming and his face lit up. “Oh! Sides, this’ll cheer you up!” he said in an excited hiss, beckoning his twin closer.

Sideswipe moved to peer around the other two, and was surprised to find Prowl was actually conscious and scowling up at them with unfocused optics. He was missing one half of his crest and there was a long, fresh weld running across his forehelm, but he took one look at Sonic cradled in Sideswipe’s arms and suddenly his optics cycled wide.

“Oh, uh…. Actually,” Jazz muttered, his expression falling sharply, “ya might wanna keep the newspark—”

He was interrupted by an unintelligible burst of static. Prowl looked confused for a moment, like he couldn’t quite figure out if the noise had come from his own vocalizer, and then made the noise again, this time gesticulating wildly at Sonic. 

“Yup, that’s right Prowler,” Jazz assured him in a patronising tone. “That’s Sideswipe’s newspark.”

The intelligence officer made as if to swat his friend away, only to have half his arm collapse in on itself in a mismatched transformation sequence. Prowl stared at it like it had just sprouted roses, and then turned to Jazz with a noise of complaint, waving the offending limb. Sideswipe laughed along with the other two when this only served to trigger further uncoordinated transformations up and down Prowl’s arm.

“You all know he’s totally conscious, right?” Ratchet called from the other side of the room. “His motor controls are just rebooting is all.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both sobered up instantly.

“Sorry, Prowl,” Sunstreaker muttered.

“Hope you get better soon,” Sideswipe added.

After a moment of considerable effort, Prowl stuck his glossa out at the both of them.

“Well… that and he may be more than a little drugged,” Ratchet confessed, coming up behind the twins as they burst into laughter again. “Let me see your son, Sideswipe.”

When Sideswipe handed the newspark over, he started crying again almost instantly. The sound apparently startled Prowl, who almost jerked straight off the berth before Jazz lunged forward to catch him. Ratchet watched with something like resignation as Jazz started helping the intelligence officer work himself out of at least a dozen misfired transformations.

“I’ll get to you in a bit,” the medic told him before motioning for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to follow him toward an open examination berth.

“This level of stress isn’t good for a newspark,” Ratchet grumbled as he laid the squirming seekerling out on the berth. “Can give ‘em tank bubbles at best and spark fluctuations at worst.”

“Spark fluctuations!?” Sideswipe repeated, his voice cracking slightly. That sounded serious.

“Yeah, best thing for it in that case is to let ‘em be near a familiar spark for a while—regulates the field,” Ratchet explained as he ran his scanner over the sparkling. “But since the best bet we have for that is currently comatose in our brig, it’s a good thing this little guy’s spark is just fine.”

Sideswipe breathed a sigh of relief.

“You will have your work cut out for you caring for him, Sideswipe,” Optimus put in, sliding gingerly from his berth and limping over. “It is perhaps best that you room with someone who knows about sparklings until you get your pedes under you.”

“He doesn’t need to move; I can help him out!” Sunstreaker protested.

Ratchet gave a derisive snort, and that ended  _ that _ idea before it had time to properly start.

“I will speak with the more senior members of the crew to see if any are willing and able,” Optimus mused, stroking his chin in thought.

“This should’ve been taken care of before you stole the poor thing in the first place,” Ratchet huffed, handing Sonic back over to the Lamborghini.

To Sideswipe’s surprise, the newspark stopped fussing the instant he was back in his sire’s arms.

“He is already recognizing you as family,” Optimus beamed, watching the sparkling burrow into Sideswipe’s chassis.

“Huh. Whaddayou know?” Sunstreaker remarked, reaching around to tickle one of his nephew’s meshy cheeks. Sonic allowed the touch.

“You are an incredibly lucky young mech,” Optimus told his soldier. “To be blessed with progeny in this day and age… few have such an opportunity.”

“Yeah,” Sideswipe agreed, staring down at his son’s wide, red optics. “Lucky…”

“Right, now the only thing left is to activate your nursing protocols,” Ratchet grumbled, stepping toward Sideswipe.

“My what!?” the Lamborghini squawked, starting back.

“You didn’t think I was gonna keep sacrificing my time to artificially filter fuel for him, did you?” the medic scoffed. “No, you make a sparkling, you feed it. Hold still; this’ll only take a second.”

Sideswipe sent a desperate glance to his twin, who only shrugged. 

“I didn’t agree to this!” Sideswipe protested.

“Yeah? Well, Skywarp didn’t agree to carrying your sparkling nearly ten months just to have you steal it away from him, but life’s full of surprises, ain’t it, kid?” Ratchet retorted.

Silence descended on the room so heavily as the medic started to work that Sideswipe found himself wishing that Sonic would start crying again.


	13. Trifecta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp!* So soon???  
> This chapter would've been up last week of the one before it hadn't taken so long, so here you go.

“...embarrassing is what it is! Entire command trine out of commission, one of them in the Autobots’ brig, Lord Megatron breaking down all over their doorstep… If anyone else had caused this much trouble, he’d be recharging with the fishes now, not on one of my medical slabs!”

“Our glorious commander just can’t help that soft spot of his for seekers…”

“Who knew he had one for sparklings, too?”

“Shut up! He’s going to hear you idiots!”

“It’s fine; he’s still offline.”

Skywarp groaned, wishing that whoever was talking would just go away already. His helm hurt, not to mention literally every other part of his frame: arms, legs, abdomen, chest… It felt like he had a couple days’ medbay time ahead of him. He just hoped that his trinemates would be able to take care of Nubby well enough until…

_ Nubby!! _

Skywarp shot bolt upright on the berth, ignoring dozens of error messages as he forced his optics online. Sideswipe and Optimus Prime had stolen his son, and like slag was he going to lay here recovering a second longer!   
Unfortunately, his legs had other ideas, and collapsed from beneath him the second they hit the ground. There were several painful jerks as various medical apparatus tore loose from his ports, and Skywarp nearly blacked out at the sharp stab of pain in the vicinity of his warp drive.

“Get him back on the berth,” he heard someone call, and multiple pairs of large servos grabbed hold of him. Skywarp fought back, an effort significantly hampered by the fact that his left arm wouldn’t move.

“No!” he cried as someone forced him to the ground. “I have to… Nubby!” His processor was struggling to make sense of the information his optics were sending him, but he was fairly certain it was Long Haul trying to get a syringe into his neck.

“It’s okay, Warp. We’ll get him back,” the Constructicon assured him. “You need to rest some more for now.”

Skywarp pulled his right arm free from someone else’s hold and punched the surgeon across the face. Long Haul fell back with a grunt and Skywarp cried out again as pain flooded up his arm. He’d forgotten that his right servo was also broken. Not that it mattered. He was going to get his son back if he had to slither up to the surface like one of those legless Earth creatures.

“Skywarp!”

A deep, familiar voice cut through the panic, and Skywarp froze. A moment later, Thundercracker’s somewhat blurry face came into his field of vision.

“T.C.!” the seeker wailed. “T.C., I screwed up! I screwed up real bad, and they got Nubby, and we have to save him, and—”

“I know,” his trinemate interrupted, shoving Constructicons aside so that he could gather the other seeker up into his arms. “I know, and we will. I promise we will.”

“We have to go,” Skywarp insisted, burying his face in Thundercracker’s comfortingly warm armor. “We can do it with all of us. We’ll get Star, and… and…”

He trailed off. Thundercracker was trying to send him reassurance through their bond, but something felt wrong about it. The balance was off.

“T.C…” he choked. “T.C., where’s Star?”

Thundercracker stiffened, and regret and fear pulsed through the open, destabilized bond. Skywarp may never have been the brightest light on the string, but he knew what a destabilized trine bond meant. He screamed.

It couldn’t be… It wasn’t…  _ HOW!? _

“Warp! Warp, no, it’s not… He’s just hurt!” Thundercracker was telling him. “He tried to go after Prime, and… He’s hurt bad and he’s with the Autobots, but he’s alive!”

“NOOO!” Skywarp wailed. “No, no, no, no! Why!? Why do I always frag everything up!?”

“We’ll fix it, Warp. We’ll fix it!” Thundercracker promised, but Skywarp could feel the other seeker’s uncertainty through all of it.

“I just wanted my sparkling to meet his sire!” he sobbed. “I didn’t… Why do they always take everything from us!?”

“I know, sweetspark. I know,” his trinemate murmured, running a shaking servo up and down the other seeker’s back. “They hurt us, I know, but you need to rest for now.”

There was a sharp pain in Skywarp’s neck, and suddenly his body was getting heavy and distant.

“We’ll figure something out, Warp. We always do,” Thundercracker assured him one last time before the other seeker slipped into blackness once more.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker was tired. He’d been offline for hours already, but he was still more exhausted than he could remember having been in a long, long time. He watched from his seat on the floor while the Constructicons got Skywarp back onto the berth and started strapping him down to it this time.

“You should rest some more, too, Thundercracker,” Scrapper told him, running a scanner over the blue seeker’s frame. “Your spark is still burning pretty low…”

“No,” Thundercracker grunted, starting to push himself back to his pedes. “I need to be doing something to help.”

“Dude, no one’s gonna be making any moves until Megatron wakes up,” Scavenger pointed out. “You might as well rest until then.”

Thundercracker glanced across the room to where their commander was laid out on another berth, missing his right arm and hooked up to a dozen monitors. That had not been a pleasant surprise to come back online to. Long Haul had already told him all about how Megatron had kept trying to break through the Autobots’ defenses up until he dropped into stasis from energon loss. The seeker felt a new sort of respect for his leader.

It was going to take a while longer still for Megatron to come back online, though, and Thundercracker didn’t fancy recharging himself until then, no matter how tired he was. With Starscream and Skywarp’s physical and mental conditions being what they were, both had their ends of their bond completely open, and when he was in recharge, Thundercracker could hear even Starscream’s muddled thoughts. The two of them combined into a long, jumbled litany of,  _ “My fault, my fault, my fault… Hurts… Help. Someone help… Want trinemates. Want son. Want Megatron. Want help… Hurts so bad… My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault…” _

He was going to go crazy if he had to listen to that any longer without being able to do anything for either of them.

“I’m gonna go… take a shower, or something,” he announced. “Let me know if anything changes with Skywarp.”

Thundercracker started heading for his trine quarters first, but then realized that he was liable to go right back to sleep if he was alone for too long. He made for the public washracks instead, hoping that there might be someone in there after the recent battle.

He wasn’t disappointed. Blitzwing, Astrotrain, and the entire conehead trine were scrubbing the smoke and dirt of the battle off their armor. All five of them fell silent when Thundercracker walked in. The seeker ignored them, including Ramjet who should have been in the brig for two more weeks, and went to claim a spigot, grabbing a bottle of communal polish off the shelf as he went. The whispers started up again when he turned on the solvent, and Thundercracker welcomed them as a distraction to the ones he was trying to ignore in his head.

After a moment, Blitzwing moved over to him.

“Hey, T.C. Uh… How you doing?” the triple changer asked, hovering just behind the other mech.

“I’m fine,” Thundercracker lied. “I’m not the one who got injured.”

“Yeah… So… How’s Warp doing?” Blitzwing wanted to know next.

“Still offline,” the seeker told him, keeping his helm down. He’d wanted the distraction of other ‘bots, but now he had it, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Scrap… This whole thing is really slagged up,” he heard Thrust saying from the other side of the room. “A sparkling belongs with its creator! Who do those Autobots think they are?”

“We got a few good hits in at least,” Astrotrain grumbled.

“Yeah, Megatron took a nice chunk out of Prime’s leg,” Blitzwing told Thundercracker. “But those slagging Autobots just outnumber us too much these days.”

“And they have no respect for an epic battle,” Ramjet snorted. “A bunch of ‘em tag-teamed him.”

“I think they took offense to us trying to storm their base,” said Dirge.

“Well, I take offense to them tearing my trine apart!” Thundercracker grumbled, his mood souring more with every word that the others spoke.

“Don’t worry, T.C.,” Blitzwing told him, patting the seeker on the back. “We’ll show those Autoboobs what happens when you kidnap Decepticons!”

“Just like they always show us what happens when we kidnap Autobots?” Thundercracker demanded, whirling around. “Let’s face it! We  _ never _ beat them!  _ Ever!! _ ”

“Wha… I know you’re upset and all, T.C., but…”

“But nothing!” the seeker snapped, shoving Blitzwing away from himself. “It’s true! You know it’s true! Name one time since we landed on this Primus-forsaken planet that we’ve managed to come out on top!”

“Well, hey! So we’ve had a streak of bad luck lately,” Blitzwing shrugged. “But we’re Decepticons. We’re destined to win eventually.”

“Really? Because right now it feels more like I’m destined to rust down here with you lot while one of my trinemates gets picked apart by the enemy and the other one goes mad with grief for his lost sparkling!” 

Thundercracker reached over and turned the shower off with so much force the knob came off in his servo. He gave a snarl of frustration and chucked the faulty contraption across the room as hard as he could. It left a sizable dent in the far wall.

This slagging ship… This slagging  _ faction! _ He wanted out. He wanted to take his trinemates and Nubby and go far, far away where this stupid war couldn’t hurt them anymore. He wanted to smash in Optimus Prime’s slagging face. He wanted it to stop. He wanted help. He wanted his trinemates. He wanted Megatron…

No. No, he didn’t. That was Starscream again. Thundercracker shook himself, venting hard, and only just then became aware of the large servo on his shoulder vent.

“You sure you’re okay, Thundercracker?” Blitzwing asked him carefully.

“Would you be okay?” the seeker demanded, shrugging the triple-changer off and heading out into the hallway again. He had decided that he wanted to be alone after all.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was in so much pain when he woke up that he almost dropped straight offline again. He let out a noise of distress, hoping that whoever was hanging around in the medbay would get the hint and give him some more drugs. Withholding pain blockers was a dirty trick the Constructicons used to play on him on the regular, but Megatron had told them he would personally inflict whatever damage Starscream was suffering on each of them if they ever did it again. 

This felt serious, too. The more conscious he became, the harder it was to draw air into his vents without searing pain. Surely, Megatron would be by his side if he’d been this badly injured? He made another, more panicked, noise of complaint and tried to reach a hand out to where the other mech should have been.

The seeker froze as he realized he was restrained to his berth.

Starscream’s optics snapped online to the sight of gaudy orange walls and energon bars. His spark started to speed up as his memories of how he had ended up here began flooding back in.

He had to stay calm, he reminded himself. He had to do everything in his power to remain rational and analytical so that he could find a way to break out of here and save Skywarp’s sparkling, too. He had to… had to…… purge his tanks, according to his HUD.

Starscream quickly aborted that command because choking on his own vomit in an Autobot brig was the last way he wanted to die. 

“You alive in there, Screamer?” a rough voice demanded, and Starscream shifted his gaze to the side to see a flash of something small and red on the other side of the energon bars.

They’d left Cliffjumper guarding him. Perfect.

“Been hoping you’d come back online before my shift was up,” the minibot grumbled. “How you feeling?”

The seeker clenched his jaw and screwed his optics shut, venting short and shallow and trying to push aside more suggestions that he purge.

Cliffjumper was chuckling now. “Yeah, didn’t nobody think it was worth wasting pain killers on you. Whether you die or Buckethead offers us a worthwhile exchange first, it’s all the same to us.”

Fear tried to overtake Starscream’s systems for a moment, and he forced it aside. He would be okay, he reminded himself. Megatron would be here to get him out any moment now.

“If yer thinkin’ that loser boyfriend of yours is gonna save ya, you got another thing comin,” Cliffjumper told him. “Prime already sent him packin’.”

Starscream’s optics flew open.

“You shoulda seen ‘im,” the Autobot told him. “Came in guns blazing. Almost managed to do some actual damage before Prime hacked his fusion cannon off, arm and all. One less fist for you, eh?”

“You’re lying…” the seeker managed, anger flaring a bit at the jibe. Megatron wouldn’t have been so stupid as to wage an unprepared, full-frontal assault on the Autobots’ base, and who was this slagging minibot to talk like he’d had anything to do with beating the Decepticon warlord back even if he had? Megatron could have crushed the mouthy little thing’s helm between his thumb and forefinger if he’d been so inclined.

“Not a bit, but after that was the good part,” Cliffjumper continued. “Ole slagmaker keeps trying to fight almost a whole hour after he loses his arm, leaking energon all over the place, and then he starts  _ crying! _ ”

“Stop….” Starscream begged, squeezing his optics shut again. It couldn’t be true. He wasn’t sure he could handle what it would mean if it was.

“Just drops on his knees in front of Prime at one point and starts begging to let ‘im have you back, an’ I turn to Brawn ‘n say, ‘Slag, if I knew seeker valve was that good, I woulda pulled a Sideswipe ages ago!’”

“Cliffjumper!” a deep voice cut through the minibot’s uproarious laughter, and Starscream felt just the tiniest bit of what might have been hope as he recognized it—Skyfire.

Unfortunately, this small amount of reprieve stole just enough of his concentration that his body’s commands to purge finally won. 

Large servos were undoing his restraints and rolling him onto his side before too much of the vile stuff could slide back down the wrong intake, but he still choked, almost blacking out as the effort of coughing it back up pulled on painfully fresh welds.

“Has everyone in this faction gone temporarily insane!?” he heard Skyfire shouting, his voice oddly muddied as the seeker struggled to stay online. “Why was he left flat on his back!? You could’ve at least tilted him up!”

“Who cares?” Cliffjumper scoffed. “He’s a Con, and one of the worst, too.”

“He’s our prisoner! He’s entitled to certain rights, and one of those is sufficient medical treatment to keep him alive until a trial, or a ransom exchange, or whatever we’re holding him for!” the shuttlebot raged, and Starscream reflected that quite a lot of Autobot insanity must have happened lately to get his former partner this riled up. “Another one is not being sexually harassed by his guards!”

“What I understand, he  _ likes _ the abuse…,” the minibot grumbled.

“Another word out of you and I’ll be reporting you to Prowl when he’s functional again!”

Skyfire pulled a rag from his subspace then and began to wipe vomit off the Decepticon seeker. There was something familiar about the scent of it when he first dragged it across the other mech’s face that brought Starscream’s optics fluttering back online again.

“Nubby…?” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” the shuttlebot asked, pausing in the middle of cleaning out his shoulder vent.

“Where… Warp’s… spar...k’ng…” Starscream managed.

“He’s fine,” Skyfire assured him, resuming his previous task. “He’s doing a lot better than you, at any rate.”

Starscream let his optics shutter once more. “Wanna… home…” he whimpered. “Megs…”

“Tell ‘im I’d be more’n happy to send ‘im home right now if he doesn’t mind a color scheme that matches his boyfriend a bit better,” Cliffjumper snorted.

“Cliff! Just get out already! You have other stuff to do!” Skyfire snapped.

Primus, but Starscream wanted his commander here right now. He wanted to hear that gravelly voice telling him how much of an idiot he’d been trying to take on Prime on his own, while he held Starscream’s servo in the comfortingly familiar warmth of his own. Skyfire was something, at least, but the seeker highly doubted his former friend was going to shirk his other duties for the rest of the day just so he could sit here by his side the way Megatron had the last time his second had been injured in battle.

A couple of tears squeezed out the corner of one of Starscream’s optics, and he was too tired to try and stop them. He didn’t want to die here, and he didn’t want his trinemate’s son to live here.

“Star?” a warm servo brushed across his forehelm. “I’ll see if I can convince them to give you some pain killers later. Just hang on for now.”

“M...ega...tron… Wha… hap...n’d…?” Starscream wanted to know, because he was sure that Skyfire at least would tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted he cared about you,” the shuttlebot said with a wry little laugh. “I wasn’t there, but Prime says he’d never seen Megatron undone like that. Whatever we end up asking in return for your release, I’m sure he’ll give it over. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Starscream shook his helm as more tears rolled down to pool in the vents on either side of his face because he knew it was true, and he couldn’t bear it. Megatron was a romantic old fool, and he would do whatever it took to save the mech he thought was his perfect mate in every way, even if it meant something so drastic as surrendering himself instead. They would lose the war all because of Starscream and his lack of self-control. 

He hadn’t been able to resist falling in love with Megatron, even though he’d known what it would mean. He hadn’t been able to break it off when he’d realized he’d never be the mech Megatron wanted. And he hadn’t been able to wait just half an hour until he could strategize with his commander and make a sensible plan of attack to retrieve Nubby. Megatron was hurt because of him, and Nubby was trapped with the Autobots. Even if Optimus Prime accepted a trade for Starscream, that poor, darling newspark would still be in enemy clutches and they would likely have nothing left to bargain with. As usual, Starscream had let down his lover, his trine, and his entire faction.

“Wanna talk… to my trine…’n… ‘n Megs,” he croaked. 

“Umm… Under normal circumstances, we’d let you talk to them briefly for proof of life, but… you’re trined, so it’s not like they don’t know you’re functioning,” Skyfire explained. “I don’t think they’ll let you call.”

Starscream sniffled a bit.

“Just try to rest,” his old friend told him as he re-engaged the restraints, using the controls on the side of the berth to tilt it slightly upright while he was at it.

“Wanna… Nubby. Please?” the seeker begged.

This time, Skyfire hesitated a good long while before answering. “We’ll see,” he said finally. “I’ll see if they’ll listen to me.”

Starscream’s spark lightened just the tiniest bit again. Skyfire was a good friend—too good of a friend. Much more than he deserved right now. “‘M sorry… I shot you… in… in the arctic,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry you felt the need,” the jet returned.


	14. Tension Tamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of back to back updates. Now get ready for back to back to BACK updates!!
> 
> This is the last one for the week though. :P

Thundercracker wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting in the dark, his helm resting against his knees as he thought himself around in circles. He’d turned his chronometer off when he’d gotten to his quarters, along with his comms.

Starscream had woken up not too long ago, and the other seeker could feel his trine leader’s feeble efforts to pull away from their bond the way he always did when he was in genuine pain. Skywarp, on the other hand, was still out cold, and Thundercracker was grateful for that. He would prefer his other trinemate stayed offline until they had some kind of good news to give him, even if it was just that they had some semblance of a plan. Soundwave was probably working on that already, but nothing would go forward until they had Megatron back online.

There came a ring on the door comm, and Thundercracker lifted his helm, wincing at the crick his neck had developed from hunching over so long.

“Thundercracker? You in there?” Blitzwing’s voice called through the intercom.

Of course. Blitzwing never had been the sort just to let well enough alone. Thundercracker curled back in on himself, hoping perhaps the other mech would just go away if he ignored him long enough.

“I’m not going anywhere until you prove you’re alive in there,” the triple-changer threatened, leaning on the buzzer again.

The seeker groaned and pulled himself to his pedes.

“What do you want?” he grumbled as the door slid open.

“Oh, there you are,” Blitzwing remarked, looking him up and down. “You sure you shouldn’t still be in the medbay?”

“I don’t  _ want _ to be in the medbay,” Thundercracker grumbled, letting his helm fall against the doorframe.

“I get that. Hook is a real putz, ain’t he?”

The seeker grunted in acknowledgment.

“Brought you something,” the other mech announced, holding up a crate of what was most certainly illegal high grade. “Only the worst slag I swiped from Mixmaster’s personal stores.”

Thundercracker eyed the stuff, glowing a lurid deep purple rather than the proper fuschia of regular energon. Mixmaster’s brews were always guaranteed to send a ‘bot into a beautifully overcharged stupor, even if there was some risk of coming out of that stupor to find they’d also burned a hole in your fuel tank. Either way, Thundercracker’s current worries would be a thing of the past.

“Come on in,” he sighed, stepping back from the doorway.

 

* * *

 

Blitzwing had struck gold on his raid of Mixmaster’s stores. It was smooth, rich stuff that went down deceptively easy and had started making Thundercracker’s helm buzz after just a couple of swallows. Two cubes in, he was an overcharged puddle in the middle of his living quarters, trine bond sufficiently dampened.

“We should save a cube o’ this stuff. See if Mixy can figure out how to make it again,” Blitzwing mused at him from the couch.

“We should… build a giant Devastator, but, like, hollow,” Thundercracker returned. “An’ put it outside the Autobots’ base with a note: ‘Happy Primesday.’ Is it Primesday soon? Can’t keep track on this planet…”

“Why would we give the Autobots a giant, hollow Devastator?” his drinking partner wanted to know.

“‘Cause, then we’ll be inside it, and when they take it in, we can all jump out,” the seeker explained. “A bunch of humans did it once. There was a giant city with super thick walls, so they made a hollow horse and hid inside it.”

“You watch squishy TV on the sly, don’t you?” Blitzwing accused.

Thundercracker rolled onto his side so that he could look at him. “So what if I do?” he demanded. “Rumble ‘n Frenzy watch it, too, ‘n Soundwave hasn’t said anything about it yet.”

“I just dunno how you find it interesting,” the triple-changer shrugged. “‘Specially the romances. Who wants to see squishies gettin’ it on together?”

“Oh, they don’t show that on TV,” Thundercracker assured him.

“Didn’t Frenzy find a tape of it once?”

“Yeah… Soundwave  _ did _ have something to say about that…”

“Did you watch it?” Blitzwing asked, an immature grin spreading across his face.

Thundercracker glared at him; that was a rather personal question, in his opinion.

“You look like Screamer when you make that face, you know,” the other mech laughed, and a tongue of guilt flicked through the seeker. 

He sat up. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“What else are you gonna do?” Blitzwing wanted to know. “Keep moping alone in the dark?”

“I dunno. I just…” Thundercracker made a noise of frustration and rubbed at his forehelm. He’d had too much to think straight, but not quite enough to completely let go yet. “Bum me another cube, would you?”

The triple-changer snorted and grabbed another cube out of the crate beside him before sliding down onto the floor to join the seeker. He settled himself about an arm’s length away, facing the opposite direction and handed over the cube.

“Been a while since we hung out like this, hasn’t it?” he commented as Thundercracker pulled the seal off his drink and waited for the fumes to go down a little.

“Since before Warp had Nubby, I think,” he agreed before knocking back a few gulps. It was enough. He felt his processor hit that perfect sweet spot of overcharge where nothing mattered anymore and lowered the cube with a contented sigh.

“Been that long since I got laid, too,” Blitzwing snorted. “Hey, so did you really watch the squishy video?”

Thundercracker hesitated just a moment before answering. “Yes. I was just curious how they do it. S’not like I’m into watchin’ squishies bang.”

The triple-changer threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “So, how do they do it?” he asked, scooting a bit closer to the other mech.

“Same way we do,” Thundercracker shrugged. “Was weird. They do it ‘xactly the same, ‘cept their femmes don’t have spikes. Seems unfair, if you ask me.”

“Just another reason we’re the superior race, I guess,” Blitzwing shrugged.

The seeker snorted and took a few more swigs of his high grade. He knew that if he finished this cube, he would be well and truly smashed, and that sounded like an acceptable destination at the moment.

“So, what would the squishies do in this kind of situation, then?” his drinking partner asked, and Thundercracker looked up over the rim of his cube to find that the triple changer had scooted close enough now to lean across his lap, resting one servo on the floor by his hip.

“Well… I suppose they might scream,” Thundercracker replied, surprised to feel his core temperature starting to rise slightly.

“And why would they do that?” Blitzwing asked, his voice dropping low as his optics flickered down to the smaller mech’s lips.

“I… don’t know,” the seeker confessed. He knew exactly where this was going to go if he didn’t stop it, and he so rarely ever wanted that. He’d certainly never wanted it from Blitzwing before. The triple-changer was nice enough in his way, and both Skywarp and Starscream (before he’d taken up with Megatron, of course) had attested to how satisfactory his abilities were. He just wasn’t Thundercracker’s type.

But tonight, with his with his processor buzzing with high quality high grade and his spark still aching slightly with the hollowness of two trinemates in crisis, that wasn’t so much of a problem as usual.

“I guess, in some cases, they might kiss,” he said, and Blitzwing smiled before tilting his helm and closing the distance between them.

Thundercracker parted his own lips to let him in, reaching up to grab the back of the other mech’s helm as he kissed him back. With both their mouths so coated in the same high grade, he hardly tasted anything, even as Blitzwing’s tongue slid insistently past his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” Blitzwing whispered as they parted.

“More,” the seeker told him. “Just… just  _ more _ .”

The other mech nodded in understanding, one of his servos sliding up the outside of Thundercracker’s thigh while the other found his wing and squeezed. The seeker gasped and grabbed hold of the helm now moving down to suck on his neck cables. He could feel moisture gathering behind his panel as his cooling fans kicked on. Blitzwing’s own fans answered a moment later as he dipped his servo down between the seeker’s thighs.

Thundercracker’s panel slid back after just a couple of strokes.

“I’m not…” he started and then stuttered as a large digit brushed his gradually moistening valve.

“Not what?” Blitzwing asked, lifting his helm to look the seeker in the optics.

“Usually this easy,” Thundercracker finished, his voice strangely breathless as the other mech’s digits continued to coax more lubrication from him.

“Don’t I know it,” the triple-changer chuckled, and then he leaned in to kiss him again, slow and deep and leaving Thundercracker’s processor spinning. There was a familiar snick and a hiss, and the seeker found his servo guided downward to a pressurizing spike. He gripped it and started to pump as a thick digit pressed into him.

“I like you like this,” Blitzwing told him, starting to tilt the seeker over onto his back. “You’re always so composed. Always wanted to hear you moan.”   
He pushed another digit into the smaller mech’s valve, and Thundercracker hissed slightly, dentae gritted. His servo went slack on Blitzwing’s spike as the triple-changer curled his digits and then scissored them.

“You’re making an ‘ow’ face. Is that a good ‘ow’ or a bad ‘ow?’” Blitzwing asked him, wrapping his free servo around the one hanging loose on his spike and moving both up and down.

“Who cares?” Thundercracker returned.

The other mech laughed and pulled his digits out of the seeker’s valve. He pumped his spike a couple more times before letting that go too and shifting to line himself up with his partner. Thundercracker spread his knees to let him in, and then winced when Blitzwing gripped his calves and splayed his legs completely, pressing them toward his chest.

“Ow! Stop!” he protested. “I don’t bend like Warp and Starscream do!”

“My bad,” Blitzwing muttered, pulling back a little. “Thought all seekers were built the same.”

Thundercracker huffed at the implications, but focused on preparing himself for what was about to come now that his hips weren’t in danger of being pulled out of their sockets. He hadn’t ‘faced anyone in a good long while, and Blitzwing was larger than his last few partners. This was going to hurt, and he was trying hard to convince himself he wanted that.

Blitzwing leaned in over him, Thundercracker’s knees hooked around his elbows, and started pushing his way in.

“Primus!” the seeker gasped, his helm falling back against the floor. His vents quickened to shallow pants as the triple-changer continued stretching him by bits.

“Frag, you are  _ tight! _ ” Blitzwing grunted. “Still only halfway in.”

Thundercracker let out a little whimper.

“See if this loosens you up a bit more…”

He started to move, slow and deliberate, and the seeker beneath him squirmed slightly at the stimulation.

“I’ll give you more soon as I’m in there proper,” Blitzwing promised, his own voice thick and breathless as he pushed himself just a little deeper.

It took a good five minutes until the triple-changer was finally hilt deep in the seeker’s valve, the both of them already panting heavily and a bit of moisture gathered at the corners of Thundercracker’s optics. Blitzwing gave him a moment’s reprieve before leaning down low over the top of him and pinning the smaller mech’s servos to the floor on either side of his helm.

“Kay, here we go,” he warned before starting to thrust.

It was glorious—exactly the processor-numbing whirl of pleasure that Thundercracker had wanted. Blitzwing was big enough that his stronger thrusts went all the way to the back of the smaller mech’s valve, drawing desperate little moans of almost-pain from the seeker every time he slid home.

“Yeah… Yeah, just… Harder!” Thundercracker whined, trying to pull his own knees back as far as possible to get more of that delicious depth. The burn at his valve’s overstretched entrance had long since faded into the background of the sensory symphony he was getting.

Blitzwing obliged him, pulling out most of the way before slamming their groins back together with a resounding clang. The seeker gasped and arched up into the next thrust.

“You’re quiet,” the triple-changer told him, and he knew that it was meant in comparison to his trinemates. He wished Blitzwing wouldn’t mention them. Apart from the fact that the whole point of this was to distract himself from them, he just didn’t need any reminders that the spike currently pounding into him had been in both Skywarp and Starscream in the past. Multiple times.

“C’mere,” the other mech growled suddenly, and Thundercracker found his servos released as Blitzwing slipped his arms around under his back, pulling the seeker upright into his lap.

Thundercracker braced himself against the triple-changer’s chassis and started riding his spike up and down, slitting his optics open just enough to watch the other mech watching him. Strong servos found his wings and started massaging outward in firm circles.

“How come we’ve never done this before?” Blitzwing panted.

“Never been desperate enough?” Thundercracker supplied with a ghost of a smile.

“Wanted you for a while now,” the triple-changer confessed. “Thought about you with the other two…”

Thundercracker shook his helm. “Stop talking and just… just,  _ please! _ ”

“Gotcha,” Blitzwing grunted, and one of his servos left the seeker’s wings to find his anterior node instead.

Thundercracker had to stop moving and just hold on as Blitzwing’s digits worked him, making his valve tighten almost impossibly around its intrusion. The triple-changer made up for it by thrusting himself. The seeker choked and then let out a long, loud moan as he overloaded, falling strutless against the other mech.

Blitzwing stopped moving while he waited for the seeker’s valve to stop twitching, his servos running up and down Thundercracker’s wings.

“Can I finish?” he asked when his partner finally had.

Thundercracker nodded, and found himself on his back again a moment later, making plenty enough noise to rival at least Skywarp while Blitzwing went at his oversensitive valve with gusto. It was over a minute or two later with a grunt and a stutter of the triple-changer’s hips. The two of them lay there, panting and slightly sticky with coolant, for several more minutes before Blitzwing pressed a kiss to the corner of the seeker’s jaw and pulled out.

Thundercracker rolled over onto his front, tucking his arms up under himself and feeling his overcharged, post-overload haze starting to slide into recharge. A moment later, Blitzwing’s large frame pressed up against his back, and he fluttered his wings slightly against the other mech’s warmth before settling into him. Whatever problems had driven him to this, they could wait until morning, he decided as a strong arm pulled him close.


	15. Finders Keepers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup y'all? How's your Wednesday? I made this little illustration to go with Megs and Starscream's bit in chapter nine. https://kanonkita.tumblr.com/post/179975328654/i-really-wanted-to-draw-megatron-holding-him-lol

In the end, Optimus assigned Ironhide as Sideswipe’s temporary mentor in newspark care.

“Why not Skyfire?” the Lamborghini had begged. “He knows more about seekers, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, well…” Optimus had hesitated, shifting awkwardly.

“I know more ‘bout newsparks,” Ironhide finally answered for him. 

“How do  _ you _ know about newsparks?” Sideswipe had naturally wanted to know, but all he’d gotten for that was a lecture about prying into other ‘bots’ pasts.

Well, at least it had left him with something other than the chaos of today to think about while he lay on the pull-out berth in the older mech’s quarters. Did Ironhide have sparklings? If he ever had, they were probably dead now. How many of his other comrades had lost families they never talked about?

The Lamborghini rolled over with a sigh to watch his own son recharging fitfully in the cage-like berth beside him and winced. The excess fuel percolating into his auxiliary tank was less than pleasant. If he wasn't worried out would lead to another hour or more of screaming, he would have considered waking Sonic up to see if the sparkling would give him some relief by eating a bit more. 

Sonic had already woken once that evening, and Ironhide had shown his new pupil a way to hold him while refueling so that his arms didn’t wear out too soon, and how to rub gentle circles between the seekerling’s fluttering wing stubs until he threw up half the fuel he’d just eaten.

“What’s the point of  _ that!? _ ” Sideswipe had demanded, wrinkling his nose at the faint smell of tank solvents.

“So’s he don’t get indergestion,” the older mech told him gruffly. “Newsparks don’ know how ta stop while they’re ahead, and judgin’ this is yers an’ Skywarp’s, he’ll be dumber ‘n most.”

Sideswipe hadn’t appreciated that comment, and had spent several minutes protesting that Sonic was a beautiful and precious little newspark and he wouldn’t hear him insulted like that.

“All newsparks are beautiful and precious. Don’t mean they ain’t also stupid sometimes,” his mentor had grunted simply before falling back into his berth. “Shake me awake if there’s an emergency. Ah’m turnin’ off my audials.”

That was several hours ago now, and Sideswipe hadn't managed to drift off even a moment. He wished Sunstreaker was still awake to talk to, or that he was in his own quarters where he could put on the next season of  _ As the Kitchen Sinks _ and lose himself in pointless human drama. As it was, he had nothing to watch except the rhythmic rise and fall of Sonic’s chest.

Sideswipe reached a tentative servo out through the bars of the newspark’s berth and laid it on his cockpit. Blessedly, his son didn’t stir.

Where had Sonic been recharging up until now? Sideswipe couldn’t help but wonder on the matter. Beside his creator in some dark, dingy cubicle with a leaky ceiling, no doubt. He had never been on board the  _ Nemesis _ personally, but he’d heard enough about its derelict state to imagine it was far from an ideal environment for a newspark.

Except that Ratchet had said that Sonic was in perfect health aside from the stress of today’s events. Another image swept through Sideswipe’s processor of Skywarp staying awake for hours on end, probably with the pain of an over-full auxiliary tank, using his wings to shield his son from dripping sea water as the seekerling recharged. Recharge couldn’t have been the only thing Skywarp had given up to raise a newspark on a Decepticon ship.

What  _ had _ Sonic’s life been like up until now? The Cons were a rowdy bunch, after all. Sideswipe couldn’t quite imagine them being receptive to someone so delicate residing in their midst, but...

_ Even Megatron couldn’t resist him _ , Skywarp had said.

Sideswipe tried to picture the old slag-maker cradling the tiny newspark in his servos, and felt his processor stall slightly in protest. That part just couldn’t be right, he was sure. Megatron might tolerate a newspark’s presence for the potential it held, but there was no way the evil overlord would have anything to do with something so fundamentally useless.

Not to mention annoying, Sideswipe added as Sonic started making the squeaky little grunting noises he was starting to realize served as a warning that he was about to start bawling his helm off.

“Alright, then,” the Lamborghini sighed, pushing himself up off his berth. “Maybe I'll finally be able to recharge after you drain me out.”

 

* * *

 

Skyfire made good on his word, and the next time Starscream came online, he was in considerably less pain. Of course, that meant that he was also in a bit of a drug-induced haze, but sacrifices had to be made sometimes. He wondered vaguely if Skyfire had actually managed to convince the Autobots to give him some morphite, or if he had just gone ahead and swiped some out of their stores. The shuttlebot was usually so punctilious about rules, but he did have that insane sense of justice that overcame that from time to time.

Like the time he had decided that he just wasn’t cut out for being a Decepticon...

Starscream pushed thoughts about Skyfire to the side and focused on figuring out just how long he’d been lying in the Autobots’ brig instead. It had been sometime past midday when he’d gone charging out after Skywarp, and it seemed that it was now about midmorning the next day. Over 12 hours since his injury, in other words. By his calculations, it would be another 12 or so before he could move around.

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, Starscream could sense his trinemates. He’d been pulling himself out of their bond as much as possible when he was awake last night on account of not wanting them to know just how upset he was. Now, he opened up a little more, nudging hazily at first Thundercracker and then Skywarp. The only one who answered was Thundercracker, and Starscream got the impression that his other trinemate was still offline. Wuss. His injuries were only half so severe as Starscream’s had been. He should be up and about soon.

Still, it was nice to have at least one trinemate humming comfort in his spark. It restored some of the confidence he’d been lacking the previous evening.

First things first, he needed to figure out how to get out of this cell. There was no doubt in Starscream’s mind that if he could get himself out of the Autobots’ brig, he could find Nubby and get them both out of the  _ Ark _ . One of Soundwave’s cassettes was monitoring the ship for sure, and would send notice to the rest of the Decepticons as soon as Starscream set pede outside. There were probably other members of his faction posted in the surrounding forest who could help hold off the Autobots while they escaped. Damaged or no, he would make this work because there was no way in the Pit that Starscream was going to wait around for Megatron to come save him. That would just be adding insult to injury.

Starscream strained against his bonds just enough that he could see the guard sitting off to the side of his cell. It was Powerglide. The seeker relaxed back into his berth with a sneer; he’d rather stare at the ceiling for the next twelve hours than have to look at that human-loving freak. 

He’d gotten into this predicament in the first place because he was too hasty, so he would take his time working on this escape plan. The first thing to do was to wait until he’d healed enough to move on his own again. Then, he had an idea of how he could use the Autobots’ soft-sparked nature against them, provided they sent some of their more sentimental idiots down here to guard him. He just hoped that it didn’t end up being Skyfire again. In his experience, there were only so many times you could apologize for attacking someone before they stopped holding you in kind regard.

With the exception of Megatron, of course.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Sideswipe to get bored of sitting around in Ironhide’s quarters the next day. There had been strong implications the previous evening that he wasn’t to walk around the ship with his son, but no one had ever stated it  _ explicitly _ . So long as he stuck to the lesser used halls, he couldn’t imagine there would be any problem. He  _ wanted _ to step outside and hang with Sunny, who was on guard duty for the morning shift, but even Sideswipe could see the stupidity in bringing Sonic outside the Ark right now.

The seekerling was calmer when they were walking. He seemed perfectly content to stare at the walls and drool on Sideswipe’s shoulder as opposed to his previously favorite pastime of screaming.

“Maybe I can get this siring thing down after all,” the Lamborghini yawned, turning another corner.

“Sideswipe!” an excited voice rang out, and he looked up to see Smokescreen and Tracks loitering a little farther down the corridor. Both mechs were staring at the little red lump on his shoulder and positively beaming.

“Is that the sparkling?” Tracks demanded, jabbing a digit at the seekerling.

“Ah… Yeah,” Sideswipe confirmed as his comrades came trotting over to him.

“Slag, it’s been forever since I saw a sparkling,” Smokescreen breathed when he got closer. He leaned down to look Sonic in the optic and gave a little wave. “Hey, there, little guy!”

“Look at his little wings!” Tracks cooed, reaching out to tweak one of them.

Sonic’s optics went wide, and he instantly burst into tears.

“Ah, scrap! I was at a new record for keeping him quiet!” Sideswipe grumbled, shifting his hold on the squirming newspark.

“Sorry, Sideswipe. I didn’t mean to,” Tracks assured him, looking mildly horrified.

“Nah, everything sets this guy off,” the Lamborghini sighed. “He started crying this morning because Ironhide  _ coughed _ too loud.”

“Ah, right. You’re rooming with the Hide now, aren’t you?” Smokescreen realized, making a face. “How’s that going?”

Sideswipe was opening his mouth to answer when a gruff voice rang out from behind him: “Keep that thing in your room, Sides! Bad enough we gotta listen to seekers squealing on the battlefield without hearing ‘em around here, too!”

The Lamborghini whirled around to see Gears, Cliffjumper, and Brawn coming toward them. It seemed Gears was the one who had spoken.

“Do you have a problem with my son?” Sideswipe demanded, cupping a protective servo around the seekerling’s tiny helm.

“Don’ play with us,” Cliffjumper growled. “You hate seekers same as the rest of us. No point pretendin’ yer all jiffied ‘bout havin’ a mini one hangin’ off ya fer the resta yer life.”

“You talk like all seekers are inherently bad,” Tracks frowned, his own wings twitching slightly.

“Don’t be like that, Tracks,” Brawn sniffed. “You’re only half a seeker.”

“What about the Aerialbots?” Tracks countered.

“They don’t count. Optimus built ‘em himself,” Gears grumbled.

“Well, Sonic’s only half-seeker, and Sideswipe made him. So, he should be fine, too,” Smokescreen reasoned.

“Ain’t the same,” Cliffjumper put in. “Weren’t  _ just _ Sideswipe as made him, and he  _ looks _ a whole lot more like a seeker’n Tracks do. Who’s to say his Decepticon coding don’t win out an’ he murders all o’ us in our berths?”

Sideswipe’s jaw dropped, and he held his screaming son a little bit tighter. He had assumed that Sonic would have faced a significant amount of persecution among the Decepticons for being half-Autobot, but he hadn’t expected this kind of prejudice here amongst his own comrades.

“He’s a fragging  _ newspark _ , Cliff! How could you say stuff like that!?” he demanded.

“Not gonna be a newspark forever,” Gears pointed out. “I say he should be in the brig with the other one.”

“You’re out of line, midget!” Sideswipe snarled, instinctively sending a mental ping to his twin as he tried to shield the tiny seeker in his arms from the hatred aimed his way.

“An’ yer a traitor!” Cliffjumper returned. “‘Less you  _ forced _ it outta that purple glitch, but then I’d say you was somethin’ even worse.”

“Hold my sparkling,” Sideswipe snarled, shoving Sonic toward Smokescreen. He heard the other mech make some kind of protest as he caught the seekerling, but was too busy throwing himself at Cliffjumper to listen to it.

The two of them rolled down the hall, trading blows the whole way. Cliffjumper was small, but he packed a serious punch, and Sideswipe could already taste energon from a couple of good hits to the mouth. A pair of servos grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him off the smaller mech.

“Sideswipe! Cliffjumper! Come to your senses, please!” Tracks shouted over the sound of the brawl and Sonic’s redoubled screams.

“You heard what he said!” Sideswipe growled, shrugging his comrade off. “I’ll let up if he takes it back!”

“Never!” Cliffjumper grunted, getting both pedes up to kick the larger mech in the stomach.

The Lamborghini toppled over into Tracks’s knees, sending both of them sprawling on the ground, and Cliffjumper was on top of them in an instant. Sideswipe was so busy fending him off that he almost didn’t hear Smokescreen shouting in the background:

“Stop it! What the frag do you think you’re doing!?”

Sideswipe managed to push Cliffjumper off himself long enough to turn and see Smokescreen trying his best to hold Sonic out of Gears and Brawn’s reach.

“Seekers belong in the brig!” Brawn grunted, backing up like he was about to charge Smokescreen.

“Don’t you dare hurt him!” Sideswipe screamed, throwing himself across Tracks to grab hold of Brawn’s ankle.

Everything dissolved into chaos from there, and Sideswipe wasn’t really sure who he was hitting or who was hitting him, right up until the moment a police siren rang out through the corridor, and all of them froze. Sideswipe was in the middle of punching Brawn in the face at the time, and the two mechs shared a communal moment of, “Oh, scrap,” before rough servos were grabbing them and shoving them apart.

“You mechs oughta be ashamed o’ yourselves!” came Jazz’s disappointed tones, followed by Ironhide’s much gruffer: “Make me sick, the lot o’ ya! Brawlin’ with a newspark in the mix!? What were ya thinkin!?”

Sideswipe looked around the assembled mechs in a panic until he spotted Sonic in none other than Prowl’s arms. The intelligence officer had the newspark tucked carefully against his chassis and was throwing a look of utter disgust in Sideswipe’s direction as he stepped a ways away from the others.

“These three were saying—” Smokescreen started to complain, only to be cut off by an aggressive noise from Ironhide.

“Ah don’t care who said anything!” the lieutenant roared. “You  _ don’ brawl  _ **_with a NEWSPARK!!_ ** ”

All five mechs winced at the pure rage in his tone.

“Jazz, help me escort these idiots to the brig,” he grumbled.

“Even me!?” Sideswipe wanted to know. “Can’t I have my son back?”

Prowl examined him disdainfully before declaring, “No,” and turning away again.

“Wha… He's mine! You can't even  _ feed _ him, Prowl!” the Lamborghini protested, righteous indignation welling up inside of him. Granted, he’d had the little stinker for less than 24 hours, but Sonic was still his responsibility— _ his _ son!

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to keep him forever,” Jazz sighed, starting to guide Sideswipe away with the others.

“He ain’t really yours, anyway,” Cliffjumper grumbled somewhere behind them, and Sideswipe heard a clang as Ironhide cuffed him round the back of the helm.

But the Lamborghini had to concede with a painful twist in his spark that he had a point.


	16. A Day in the Life of Thundercracker

Thundercracker woke with a throbbing helm ache and a horrible taste in his mouth. Blitzwing was still pressed against his back, but the triple-changer’s warmth had ceased to be comforting and was now just oppressive. The seeker started trying to inch himself away, and a large arm curled tight around his middle, pulling him back against the other mech. His floormate made a contented humming sound and nuzzled up against his neck cables.

“Get off,” Thundercracker moaned.

“There’s someone at your door,” Blitzwing muttered back, pressing a kiss to the corner of the seeker’s jaw.

Thundercracker frowned as the door comm buzzed, realizing its sound must have woken him to begin with.

“I don’t wanna get it,” he grumbled.

“Me neither.”

The buzzer went off again, more insistently this time, and a high priority comm pinged into Thundercracker’s message box. There were only three people who had bypass codes to get ahold of him when his comms were off. Two of them were his trinemates. The other one was Megatron.

“Scrap!” the seeker hissed, shooting upright and diving for the door only to be overcome with dizziness and collapse again a few yards from it.

“What’s going on?” Blitzwing mumbled somewhere behind him, but Thundercracker didn’t get a chance to answer before the door slid open—another thing that Megatron apparently had override codes for. He blamed Starscream.

Thundercracker hissed and shuttered his optics against the light from the hallway, much of which was blocked by his commander’s large frame anyway. There was a muffled curse and a sudden series of scrapes and bangs as Blitzwing apparently hurried to his pedes.

“Glad to see you’re taking yesterday’s events in stride, Thundercracker,” Megatron growled, his tone almost as caustic as the illegal high grade the two mechs had been chugging the previous evening.

"Sir,” Thundercracker grunted, cracking one optic open to look up at the warlord’s scowling face. He’d had his arm replaced since yesterday, though it was still held in a sling to prevent him accidentally pulling any of the fresh connections and welds before they could heal completely. The seeker reflected a moment on just how quickly the Constructicons could work when they wanted.

“Make yourselves presentable and meet me in the planning room in 15 minutes,” Megatron rumbled, turning back out into the corridor.

Thundercracker staggered back to his pedes as the doors slid shut, clutching his helm in both servos as he did.

“Frag…” he groaned, straightening up but keeping his optics shielded with his servo.

“Can say that again,” Blitzwing muttered.

“Look, about last night...” Thundercracker started, turning vaguely in the other mech’s direction.

“Don’t worry about it,” the triple-changer told him. “It was a good time; that’s all.”

The seeker nodded, and then wished he hadn’t. “Right… I’m gonna hop in the shower. You can use it when I’m done.”

“Thanks,” Blitzwing muttered, flopping onto the couch.

Thundercracker still didn’t move his servo to look at him as he hurried into the washracks, and it seemed that was that.

 

* * *

 

“We’re making another assault,” Megatron announced. “This time with a secret weapon the humans have been developing.”

Thundercracker reset his audials a couple of times to be sure he was hearing properly. Across the conference table, Soundwave’s helm tilted slightly, but most of the others were murmuring appreciatively as Megatron started pulling up photos of this supposed secret weapon that he was planning to steal. Excepting Hook, who was glaring disdainfully at the new arm Megatron had already taken out of its sling.

“As you can see,” their commander was saying, “The humans have been developing a prototype for a special field generator that affects the sanity of anyone, Cybertronian or human, within its reach. They're holding the prototype at a university in…”

Thundercracker braced himself for a screech of objection or even a derisive scoff and realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn't coming. He tried to cheer himself up by imagining what Starscream might say about Megatron's plan if he was here.

_What makes you think I need rescuing to begin with!?_

_Do they have a field that'll make you any less of an idiot?_

_Why are you relying on primitive human technology? It's just gonna break or malfunction and_ you'll _end up being the one who goes all nuts and bolts!_

Thundercracker frowned slightly as he realized that was kind of a good point, but Megatron was in full swing right now and the Seeker didn't much fancy interrupting him. Sure, Starscream did it on a daily basis and Megatron didn't even punish him for it anymore (if anything, it was usually the rest of the mechs in attendance at the meeting who had to suffer the punishment of sitting through their commanding officers’ sexually charged arguments day after day), but Starscream had the distinct advantage of occupying perhaps the one soft spot in Megatron’s spark. Should Thundercracker attempt to make an objection to the plan, he wasn't sure how his commander should react, especially in his emotionally compromised state.

But then Megatron flipped to the slide of his presentation that outlined the configuration he wanted for his Seekers.

“Sir?” Thundercracker blurted, raising a servo in the air. All optics at the conference table turned toward him.

“Yes, Acting Commander Thundercracker?” Megatron prompted, optical ridges raised.

“I was just wondering…” Thundercracker squirmed slightly under the weight of the attention. How did Starscream actually _enjoy_ it!? “Do… Do we know how large the field is? For instance, are we certain it wouldn't affect, say, someone who was flying over it?”

The warlord reset his optics and then glanced back at his battle schematics.

“Soundwave, do we have specific data on the device's capabilities?” he asked.

“Negative, Lord Megatron,” the intelligence officer replied. “Reconnaissance mission canceled at Commander Starscream's request.”

“What!? Why!?”

“Reasoning; infallible,” Soundwave replied in non-answer.

“ _What_ reasoning?” Megatron pressed irritably.

“That Lord Megatron would attempt to use device in combat despite warnings to the contrary should he learn of its existence.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Someone snickered near the back of the room (it sounded like Astrotrain) and was cut off by a muffled thumping sound. Megatron cleared his throat and shuffled a couple of datapads on the table in front of him.

“I’m sure the humans have documentation of their own on the device’s capabilities,” the warlord growled after a moment. “We will just have to ensure that we bring them into our possession as well. Surely, my Decepticons do not fear anything the humans could concoct?”

A cheer rose up around the room, and Thundercracker felt his mouth go dry. When he glanced across the table again, Soundwave was staring at him, visor burning in what the Seeker could only assume was a “Say something!” expression.

Thundercracker shook his helm slightly and shot the intelligence officer a return look that he hoped successfully conveyed the sentiment, “ _You're_ the third in command! _You_ say something!” before sinking down in his seat. If it didn't, he supposed Soundwave could just read it in his mind anyway. Either way, talking Megatron out of bad ideas was not Thundercracker's job.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker was just getting up to leave the meeting when Megatron caught his optic with an obvious request that he stay. The seeker sank back down in his seat, his tanks roiling with nerves, and waited for the rest of their comrades to file out of the room. Was he about to get chewed out for interrupting the meeting, or -- Primus forbid -- was Megatron going to lecture him about what he'd walked in on this morning?

As soon as they were gone, Megatron surged around the table and seized the smaller mech’s chair, spinning him so that they were almost nose to nose.

“Is he okay?!” the warlord demanded, and Thundercracker reset his optics a couple of times in consternation.

    “What?” he spluttered.

    “Starscream!” his commander clarified. “Can you feel… _Is he okay!?_ ”

    “He’s…” Thundercracker contemplated a moment just how best to answer that. Starscream had been sliding in and out of consciousness most of the day from what he could tell. He wasn’t in as much emotional distress as he had been last night, but he was still in a good deal of pain. “He’s hurt, but he seems to be coping with it,” the seeker finally settled for.

    Megatron turned away, slamming his good servo into the tabletop with a growl of frustration.

“Frag it all!” he roared. “Why!? Why now of all times!? Why did it have to be…”

He trailed off with a noise that Thundercracker realized somewhat uncomfortably was a sniffle.

    “I can only imagine what kind of emotional state he must be in, and Prime won’t even let me speak to him!” his commander continued, starting to pace in a tight circuit at the head of the conference table. “I wonder how _he_ would feel if Shockwave had that pink glitch of his in custody! Maybe I should tell Shockwave to try capturing her…”

    “What about Skywarp’s son?” the seeker wanted to know, leaning forward on the edge of his seat.

    “We were assured the sparkling is in perfect health, but again, no visual,” his commander replied. “I’m not worried, though. Prime is a soft-sparked fool; he’ll ensure that a newspark is well cared for.”

    “But he’s a seeker!” Thundercracker blurted before he could stop himself. “He’s too young to be on his own!”

    Megatron turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”

    The other mech hesitated, servos fidgeting in his lap. He didn’t want to make his commander anymore stressed than he already was, but… “Seekerlings die if they’re separated from their creators’ spark signatures too long.”

    There was a moment of silence, and then: “Why didn’t you mention this sooner!?” Megatron roared, slamming both fists into the table now, and wincing as the motion apparently sent pain shooting up his new arm.

    “I assumed Hook would have mentioned it, sir!” the seeker protested, leaning back slightly.

    “Do you think Prime’s medical staff would know about this?” the warlord wondered.

    “I imagine they would have advised him against kidnapping a seekerling in the first place if they did, sir,” Thundercracker pointed out.

“Or this is Prime' s attempt at gaining some kind of revenge!” Megatron despaired. “Has he come to hate us so much that he would take not one but _two_ innocent lives!?”

“Two?” Thundercracker blinked.

    Megatron paced a few more times in silence before suddenly stopping and seeming to deflate entirely. He pulled up the nearest chair and sank into it with a heavy sigh, his servos coming up to rub at his faceplates.

“The night before… all this, Starscream informed me that he was carrying,” he sighed, and Thundercracker clenched his servos in his lap as he realized where this was going.

“He lost it… didn't he?” the seeker guessed, feeling suddenly ill.

“Primes medic reported that his entire gestation chamber was destroyed,” Megatron confirmed, a slight tremor in his own servos now.

“Oh, Star…” Thundercracker breathed, shuttering his optics as he sought out his trine leader in their bond.

How long had he carried it before Optimus Prime had ripped it from him? Why hadn't he said something sooner? If only Thundercracker had known, he would never have let him go alone.

“So many hopes… He must be devastated, and I can't _do_ anything for him!” Megatron growled, clutching at his helmet in frustration.

“What am I going to tell Skywarp when he wakes up?” Thundercracker despaired. “He's going to think this is all his fault…”

“Is it not?” his commander snapped, and the seeker's tanks clenched again. “That trusting attitude of Skywarp’s was always going to get him into trouble.”

    “He never has been the brightest star in the sky, my lord,” Thundercracker conceded carefully, “but I find it unlikely he'd have knowingly put his son in danger. There’s surely more to the story.”

    Megatron grunted noncommittally.

“And I don't think Starscream would want the blame put on him, either,” Thundercracker added.

“However did you end up trined to the two of them?” Megatron wanted to know.

    “Er… it just sort of… happened,” Thundercracker confessed, latching onto the change in subject with gratitude. “Starscream and I were the only two untrined mechs in our graduating class, so we were always getting stuck together for things when we joined the Air Command. I guess we kind of grew on each other. Then, we got transferred to teaching positions at the Academy while Skywarp was there a couple hundred millennia later, and… It just happened.”

    Really what had happened was that Skywarp had taken it as a personal challenge when he came in second to Starscream—a _professor!_ —as Most Attractive Mech at the Academy his first year there, and spent a significant amount of time trying to seduce Thundercracker for revenge (he’d incorrectly assumed like most of the students that Starscream and Thundercracker were romantically involved). The seduction had failed spectacularly, but somehow Skywarp ended up being a permanent fixture in their lives from that moment on.

    Megatron was looking somewhat taken aback, though. “I didn’t know Starscream was ever an instructor,” he remarked.

    “Ah. Yes, there was an incident involving Starscream, a highly decorated general, and a trash compactor. They couldn’t prove anything, but the court martial decided it would be wise if he spent some time in a less competitive environment,” Thundercracker explained. “And they transferred me, too, because they always just sent us everywhere together by that point.”

The other mech snorted. “Attempted assassinations and student/teacher scandals… I’m surprised Starscream hasn’t ever told me the real story.”

“What _did_ he tell you?” Thundercracker had to know.

“Some truck about the two of you begging him to take you on after you saw him fly for the first time,” Megatron shrugged.

    Now, it was Thundercracker’s turn to snort. “ _He_ begged _me_ never to leave him alone almost every time he got overcharged.”

    He thought back then to the first time he’d ever had a proper conversation with Starscream. It wasn’t until their graduation ceremony after party. Thundercracker had been sitting alone near the back of the room as usual, and Starscream had come swaggering over, already charged off his rocker and still wearing his valedictorian sash, to jab an accusing digit at him.

    “You know why you’re not trined, yet?” the other seeker had shrieked over the noise of the party. “‘Cause you’re too nice! You’re the nicest mech here, and I’d rather die alone tomorrow than ever be trined to a loser like you!”

    Of course, in the way of such things, Thundercracker had ended up being the one rubbing Starscream’s backstruts while he purged in an alley on the way home later that night, and when he tucked the other seeker into his own berth a while later (Starscream’s dorm room was secured with a 50-digit code that the idiot didn’t have enough coordination to put in at that point), Starscream had started crying and spilled the whole story of his time as an intergalactic explorer and Skyfire and how he had left the corps. Thundercracker had never seen anything so pitiful, and the two of them had fallen into recharge holding each other.

    The next morning, Starscream had filed a sexual assault charge against Thundercracker.

    “He’s always been difficult,” he sighed. “Warp, too, but…”

    “But they’re yours?” Megatron finished for him.

    “That’s what Starscream tells you about us, isn’t it?” the seeker guessed.

    “All the time,” his commander told him, optics crinkling into the softest smile Thundercracker had ever seen on him. The warlord leaned forward then, a large servo engulfing both of the seeker’s where he’d been worrying them in his lap. “I _will_ get them back, Thundercracker,” he said, face serious once more. “Whatever it takes, I will get our family back.”

    The seeker swallowed as Megatron’s fierce gaze burned into him with that impossible surety that had drawn his whole trine into the warlord’s gravity all those hundreds of millennia ago.

    “I don’t doubt it, sir,” he said, and he almost believed it himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Skywarp felt calmer the next time he came online, and he could tell that he’d been out for a good long while even without checking his chronometer. The first thing he noticed was that he could feel Starscream’s presence in their bond once more. It was faint, and he could tell that Starscream was in pain, but at least it was there. He sighed slightly and shifted on the berth, only to find himself pulling against restraints.

    “Warp?” a soft voice called before he could start to panic, and a familiar servo pressed against his cheek. “Warp, you there?”

    Skywarp flickered his optics online to find Thundercracker gazing down at him, concern etched in every line of his face.

    “Nubby?” the younger seeker asked because his son was his chief concern at the moment.

    “We’re working on it,” his trinemate assured him. “Megatron has a plan. We’ll figure it out.”

    Skywarp nodded, and then heaved another sigh. Megatron had a plan… That was alright, then. There wasn’t anything their leader couldn’t accomplish if he really set his processor to it.

    “Can we call the Autobots?” he asked. “I just wanna see him.”

    “Megatron tried that already,” Thundercracker sighed. “They said no.”

    “To Megatron, but I’m his creator. They have to say yes!”

    “Skywarp, they kidnapped him from you in the first place. Sorry, but I don’t think they’ll let you see him.”

    The purple seeker bit his lower lip and shuttered his optics again.

    “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” he asked.

    Thundercracker hesitated before answering. “Well… probably at least a little,” he confessed. “I mean, you did fraternize with an enemy soldier without permission on multiple occasions, which would be cause for disciplinary action even if it _hadn’t_ resulted in the capture of our second-highest-ranked officer and the first natural-born Cybertronian on record for a couple million years.”

    “Don’t rub it in,” Skywarp whined, squeezing his optics shut tighter. “Is that why I’m restrained?”

    “Oh, no, that’s just to keep you from trying to run away again,” Thundercracker told him. “In fact…”

    There was a beeping sound, and Skywarp’s restraints snapped back into the medical berth.

    “Thanks,” the younger seeker muttered. “Primus, T.C., I just wanna hold my son so bad.”

    “I know,” his trinemate assured him, taking hold of his uninjured servo.

    “Did they tell you how long until my warpdrive is healed?” Skywarp wanted to know next.

    “A few days?” Thundercracker shrugged. “But Warp, you gotta promise me you won’t go off on your own and do anything reckless. That’s what got us into this whole mess, remember?”

    “I’m not gonna go off on my own if Megatron already has a plan,” he assured the other seeker. “His plan is probably way better than mine, anyway.”

    “Good,” his trinemate huffed, and then he leaned down to plant a careful kiss on Skywarp’s cheek. The younger seeker cracked his optics open again to look at him as he pulled back. “Rest up,” Thundercracker rumbled, carefully squeezing the servo he held in his own. “You gotta get your strength back so you can help me knock the lights out of a couple of sparkling-snatching, trinemate-thieving Autobots.”

    “Sounds like a plan,” Skywarp agreed, squeezing back.


	17. Internal Affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, we're back. :)

It had been a while since Sideswipe had gotten into trouble on his own rather than getting dragged into one of Sunstreaker’s messes, and brig time was a lot less fun without his brother. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the matter of the company that he  _ did _ have down there.

The second they walked past the cell where Starscream lay propped on a medical berth, the seeker started shrieking invective at him, and as soon as  _ that _ started, the three minibots started shouting back. Even on the far side of the brig, Sideswipe could hear them going at it, and he wondered at Starscream’s apparent vivaciousness for someone with massive internal damage. Meanwhile, Tracks and Smokescreen were giving him the silent treatment for getting them thrown in there to begin with.

“You  _ heard _ what he said to me!” Sideswipe protested. “He basically accused me of… something I would  _ never _ do!” Indeed, the idea was so deplorable that he couldn’t even bring himself to say the word out loud. “Try and tell me that at least  _ you _ wouldn’t have reacted exactly the same, Smokes!”

“I would’ve made sure my month-old newspark was out of the way first!” Smokescreen returned, finally breaking his stubborn silence.

“He was born on the  _ Nemesis! _ I just figured he’s gotta be used to this kinda thing!” the Lamborghini tried to excuse himself.

“IS NOT!” Starscream shrieked from down the row of cells, and Sideswipe jumped, wondering how the seeker had heard him over his own argument. “Skywarp would  _ never _ let that happen, you uncivilized—”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t have the luxury of just teleporting away everytime something unpleasant comes up!” Sideswipe shouted back at him.

“You dare imply that my trinema...!!” The seeker trailed off suddenly with a noise of distress. Sideswipe couldn't tell what had happened next from where he was, but the minibots started laughing and jeering, and Starscream shut up after that.

The rest of the time was just waiting. After a couple of hours, Jazz came down to let Tracks and Smokescreen out for their shift, and Sideswipe tried to get some kind of hint from him about how much longer he was going to be stuck down there.

“Ain't ya worried 'bout your son at all?” Jazz asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Duh,” Sideswipe scoffed. “Why do you think I'm in a hurry to get out of here? I need to feed him!”

“Don’ worry ‘bout that. Ratchet’s got it covered for now,” Jazz assured him.

Sideswipe frowned, rubbing surreptitiously at his side. Ratchet might have Sonic taken care of, but what about his own overfilled fuel reserves? Not to mention...

“He isn’t still with Prowl, is he?” the Lamborghini wanted to know. “Not to sound hypocritical or anything, but I'm not sure how much I trust your boyfriend with a newspark.”

Jazz snorted. “Oh, they're gettin' along famously. Prowler says he improved the little dude's fuel retention rate by 15%. Think he was stickin' a chevron on 'im when I left and tryin' to upgrade 'is logic circuits.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Good one, Jazz. ...Jazz? Jazz, that was a joke, right? Jazz!”

But the officer was already heading for the exit with the other two.

“Get some recharge while you can, dude!” he called over his shoulder.

 

* * *

  
  
Part of Sideswipe wanted to eschew Jazz's advice on principle, but he had enough sense to realize how foolish he'd be to pass up the chance to recharge without a newspark waking him up on the regular. He spent the rest of his time in the cell dozing off and on until Jazz came back to collect the rest of them several hours later.

“If any o’ you says a single word before we get up ta Prime’s office, I will personally turn that fool into a desk ornament,” Jazz warned when Cliffjumper started to open his mouth.

The minibot’s jaw shut with an audible clang, and they went on their way.

When they entered their commander’s office, the Prime was sat behind his desk, massaging the side of his helm and poring over a stack of datapads. His optics, when he turned them up to the soldiers assembled in front of him, looked unusually dim.

“It has come to my attention,” Optimus announced as he set down the datapad, “that some among you object to the presence of Sideswipe’s son in our midst.”

There was a certain amount of shuffling and clearing of throats from the minibots. Sideswipe reset his optics, and then turned smugly to the lot of them, arms folded across his chassis, as he realized that he was not the one being scolded here.

“Please, I endeavor to understand the feelings of my troops as much as possible. Explain to me what is bothering you,” their leader prompted.

“Er… Well….” Cliffjumper muttered.

“It ain’t natural, Prime!” Gears blurted out ahead of him.

“And what would that be?” Optimus wanted to know.

“A Decepticon seeker livin’ with a buncha Autobots!” the squat little mech continued. “I know halfa his coding is Sideswipe’s, but how do we know that side will win out in the end?”

“Ratchet, Perceptor, and Wheeljack have all assured me that the environment in which a forged sparkling is raised has more bearing on its personality than its coding,” Optimus countered. “If we raise… I’m sorry, Sideswipe, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your son’s name.”

“Um… Sonic,” the Lamborghini supplied, frowning slightly. He’d never known Optimus to forget anyone’s name.

“Ah, of course,” the Prime nodded. “If we raise Sonic with the values of the Autobot code, then there is no reason to believe he wouldn’t turn out an Autobot as fine as you or I, Gears.”

Sideswipe certainly hoped that his son became a better Autobot than Gears, but wasn’t going to say such things in front of their leader.

“It is not our place to make judgments on innocent beings,” Optimus continued. “Furthermore, sparklings of any sort are precious beyond our comprehension in this dark time for our species, and seeing you knowingly put one in harm’s way has caused stress for several of your comrades. It’s hard enough doing damage control from yesterday’s raid without some of my more senior crew members exacerbating it.”

Gears and Brawn both hung their helms, but Skywarp just frowned, wondering which of his comrades had heard rumors about their tussle and been upset enough to come running in here to give Prime a piece of their minds. Because now he thought of it, Optimus very much looked like he’d been listening to someone complaining at him for the last six hours.

“But Prahm—” Cliffjumper started, and Optimus cut him off.

“Sonic is a member of our faction now, Cliffjumper,” the Prime rumbled. “I will not tolerate defamation against him or Sideswipe of any sort. Is that understood?”

“I haven’ told ya all o’ my feelings on the matter yet,” Cliffjumper returned, holding his leader’s gaze.

“And what would those be?” Optimus sighed.

“That I don’ like the idea o’ seein’ the face of a mech who’s killed plenty o’ my friends over the years runnin’ round our base for the rest of our time here,” the minibot declared.

“That,” Optimus spoke after a long pause, “is a valid concern that I am sure some of your comrades will share as time goes on. It is a complicated matter of psychology that we can certainly address going forward. For now, I urge you to try and focus on those ways in which Sonic is different from his creator rather than the similarities.”

“Like what?” the minibot wanted to know.

“Like he’s very sensitive and shy,” Sideswipe put in, thinking of how his son seemed to shrink away from every new spark signature he encountered. Cliffjumper just gave him a critical look, but Optimus’s optics crinkled in a smile.

“An excellent start, Sideswipe,” he said. “I am pleased to know you are starting to find affection for your son. That said, I think you might benefit from dedicating some time to the study of sparkling care and development. Affection, while important, is not enough on its own to raise a healthy sparkling.”

The Lamborghini shrugged and scraped his toe pede on the floor, feeling all three minibots’ optics on him.

“I believe we are done here for now,” their Prime announced. “Return to your posts, and please feel free to come to me with any other concerns you have regarding this matter.”

 

* * *

 

Despite claiming that they were done, Optimus ended up keeping Sideswipe for almost a full hour after the minibots had left, talking at him about the importance of treating newsparks with care. The Lamborghini spent the whole lecture shuffling uncomfortably as his auxiliary fuel reserves creeped closer and closer to critical levels. When his leader finally released him back into Jazz’s custody, Sideswipe had to exercise all his self-control not to flip into alt mode and zoom off down the hall at top speeds. 

It wouldn’t have done him much good anyway because Sonic was not in the medbay as Sideswipe had somehow assumed he would be. Of course, Jazz had told him that Sonic was with Prowl, but the Lamborghini was still somewhat taken aback when the saboteur led him to the SIC’s actual quarters.

Sideswipe hesitated on the threshold instead of following Jazz inside; walking into Prowl’s quarters just felt…  _ wrong _ .

“‘Salright,” Jazz beckoned when he noticed the younger mech’s hesitation. “I always just come in ‘cause the stinker never turns his doorbell on.”

Well, of course it was alright for Jazz, Sideswipe reflected, but eventually entered the room nonetheless.

In Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s complainings about Prowl over the years, they had always imagined their intelligence officer’s quarters to be something of a barren wasteland where even an antdroid would die of starvation, if the soul-crushing weight of Prowl’s disapproval permeating the air didn’t kill it first. So, it was more than a little surprising when the first thing to greet his optics was a large rectangle of colorful fabrics stitched together in a geometric pattern that Prowl had tacked up against the far wall of his living room. It had a distinctly human feel to it, and Sideswipe was just wondering where it might have come from when he started noticing the other details of the room.

There were a lot of shelves, but most of them were half-empty, the datapads Sideswipe assumed they were intended to hold lying in piles around the room instead. An ample number of human books, some of them blown up to Cybertronian size, was scattered in among them. There was a couch, turned to face a modestly sized viewscreen and with several rumpled insulation sheets on it like Prowl fell asleep there on the regular. In front of the couch, a low table held a collection of cubes with varying amounts of old energon still in them, and the parts of an obviously damaged air purifier that it looked like the intelligence officer had started fixing and never gotten back to.

“Well,” Sideswipe remarked, taking it all in. “Surprisingly homey.”

“I think I’d go for somethin’ more along the lines o’ ‘chaotic,’” Jazz snorted, stooping to gather up a few stray datapads and add them to various stacks on his way across the room. “Mech spends way too much time in his own helm.”

“What’s that?” the Lamborghini wanted to know, pointing to the decorative fabric on the far wall.

“Oh, that. Carly an’ her creator made that,” the other mech explained. “It’s called a quilt. I guess it’s some kinda art form that human femmes do.”

Sideswipe frowned.  _ He’d _ never gotten any fancy human art from Carly, and he was far more agreeable than  _ Prowl _ .

Jazz reached the door that led into the berthroom then and rapped on it sharply. “Prowler?” he called. There was a pause before Jazz just opened the door himself with a huff and stepped through. Sideswipe moved closer so that he could peer in, eager for a glimpse of what the rest of the intelligence officer’s quarters might look like and anxious to see what had become of his sparkling.

The room beyond looked more office than berthroom, and Prowl himself was sprawled in an old desk chair, his helm slumped over the back and his mouth hanging open. He was snoring slightly, one servo resting lightly on the back of the newspark that was recharging on his shoulder. 

“Prowler?” Jazz called softly as he stepped over to nudge the other mech’s shoulder. The intelligence officer woke with a sharp gasp, both servos flying up to Sonic before he seemed to recognize Jazz and relaxed. The seekerling shifted and made a little sighing noise, but stayed blessedly offline.

“Is that idiot out of the brig already, then?” he yawned, straightening up.

“Uh, yeah, this idiot is out of the brig,” Sideswipe spoke up from the doorway, and Prowl turned to glare at him.

“Do you have  _ any _ comprehension of what could have happened if one of you had accidentally hit this sparkling, or—Primus forbid— _ dropped him!? _ ” he hissed.

“Yeah, yeah. Prime already grilled ‘is engines about it, my dude,” Jazz told him, making calming motions.

“I got the whole lesson,” Sideswipe added. “Newsparks are delicate. Don’t rough house around them, don’t throw them, don’t drive recklessly with them, and don’t have arguments around them because it upsets them.”

Prowl huffed, but didn’t say anything else as he carefully got to his pedes and brought Sonic back to his sire.

“I fueled him about an hour ago, but he didn’t take much,” the officer recounted as he transferred the sleeping newspark into Sideswipe’s arms. “He seems listless. Might just be tired after all the excitement yesterday, but keep an eye on his core temperature. That’s usually a good early indication of deeper problems with newsparks.”

“He’s a month old; of course he’s ‘listless,’” Sideswipe huffed, cradling the soft little seekerling back against his chassis. Sonic squeaked a bit and his limbs jerked around before he settled back down.

“Don’t talk back to me, soldier. I know the difference between ‘month-old’ listless and ‘unwell’ listless,” Prowl snapped, servos going to his hips.

“I’m sure Sides will keep a good optic on him,” Jazz cut in diplomatically, brushing a servo down his friend’s arm. “And he’s got Ironhide to help out, too. It’ll be fine.”

“He’d be better off with Skyfire,” the intelligence officer huffed, his shoulders relaxing nonetheless. “What does Ironhide know about seekers? They’re not built the same as us.”

“I’d rather hang out with Skyfire than Ironhide any day, but it wasn’t my choice, now was it?” Sideswipe pointed out.

Prowl grumbled something under his breath, pressing his knuckles to the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Just take him back to your quarters and try to get him to eat more,” he said finally. “Maybe he’ll take your fuel better than the synthesized stuff Ratchet gave him.”

Sideswipe was all too happy to get back to the relative comfort of even Ironhide’s quarters, and he sincerely hoped that Sonic would take a healthy portion of the fuel that was now threatening to back up out of his auxiliary tank. Jazz walked him back through the halls, not thinking it wise for the Lamborghini to parrade his son through the Ark without company after that morning’s events.

“Prime’ll prolly put out one o’ his satisfaction surveys about this whole business,” the saboteur remarked as they walked, and Sideswipe snorted.

“I can see it now: ‘This operation was well-planned and executed,’ followed by a rousing chorus of ‘strongly disagrees.’”

“He was in a rush ta get your son out o’ there’s all,” Jazz shrugged. “I think it bothered him leaving it even a full month, an’ o’ course I know you heard Prowl backed out o’ the whole thing at the last minute, too. Didn’ exactly set us up for a flawless execution.”

“Yeah, what was that about?” Sideswipe wanted to know. “He didn’t seem fond of this plan in the beginning, either, but then he said Prime knows best, or something.”

“Prowl’s a surprisingly sensitive mech, you know,” Jazz answered cryptically, and that was the end of it, no matter how much Sideswipe pressed him.

When they got to Ironhide’s quarters, Sunstreaker was waiting for them, buffing his digits while he leaned casually against the doorframe.

“Hey, Sides,” he greeted, as if his twin had not just spent the better portion of the day sitting in the brig after having a dispute with several of their comrades. 

Sideswipe shifted Sonic into one arm as he approached so he could smack his brother across the chassis with his free hand.

“Ow,  _ what? _ ” Sunstreaker protested, putting up an arm to fend off any further attacks.

“Where have you been all day?” Sideswipe demanded.

“On patrol, geez! These guys wouldn’t let me come visit you anyway. What do you want from me?” his brother grumbled.

Sideswipe huffed, and then leaned into the other mech’s warm, yellow armor so that Sonic was cradled between the two of them. He let his helm fall on his brother’s shoulder and released a long sigh. After a moment, Sunstreaker relaxed and dropped an arm around his back, concern and comfort pulsing through their bond.

“I’ll see you mechs later,” Jazz called as he headed away down the corridor.

“You okay?” Sunstreaker asked when he’d disappeared. “How’s Sonic?”

“We’re okay,” Sideswipe answered. “Just missed you was all.”

His twin snorted and started to pull away. “You can tell me all about it over a cube.”

“No high grade, though,” Sideswipe told him apologetically as he put in the code for Ironhide’s quarters. “It’ll get into Sonic’s fuel.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics and reached out to poke at one of the sparkling’s meshy cheeks.

“What’s even the point of you, bitling?” he demanded.

Sonic wrinkled his nose and yawned in response, pushing a chubby fist into his mouth as it closed.

“Okay, I guess he’s kinda cute,” Sunstreaker confessed after a moment.

“Bro, he’s adorable,” Sideswipe sniffed haughtily, unable to suppress a grin as they passed through the door.


	18. It Never Rains...

Megatron's plan to steal the humans’ earthquake generator ended up not going into effect until almost three days after the initial planning meeting. There were a number of reasons for this, one of them being that the warlord kept damaging his new arm with overwork until Scrapper had simply immobilized it for several days.

It also turned out that Starscream had encrypted everything past the preliminary information about the device they were supposed to be stealing more heavily than Megatron had initially thought, as well as somehow deleting all of Soundwave’s own files about it (although, Skywarp had heard rumors that the intelligence officer was lying on that regard to avoid Megatron finding out where he kept  _ his _ stash of files on things that he didn’t want his commander to know about). Part of the decryption process had apparently involved a series of almost 1,000 excessively personal questions Starscream had put in about himself that Megatron had insisted for over a day he could answer by himself before finally calling Thundercracker in for assistance.

Skywarp spent all of this time tucked up in a berth in the medbay, feeling useless and generally miserable. It wasn’t until the morning of the raid that Hook finally kicked him out.

“Gonna need this space for other people,” the medic had grunted, and Skywarp had limped his way out into the ship to face his comrades’ painfully sympathetic stares. Fortunately, most of them were too busy to pay him much notice, but he found himself longing for the convenience of his still-damaged warp drive before long.

The seeker’s first instinct was to head for his quarters. He got all the way to the door before remembering that behind it were Nubby’s toys, his insulation sheets, his berth… standing empty…. Skywarp turned away from the door and went in search of his remaining trinemate, spark twisting painfully.

Thundercracker was in the main hangar, throwing orders around, checking munition levels and all the other things that Skywarp was used to seeing Starscream fuss about before a raid. The purple seeker found a seat on a crate of grenades over by the door and pulled his knees up against his newly replaced cockpit while he waited for his trinemate to notice him. 

Logically, he knew that Thundercracker was too busy to come and talk to him, but he kept hoping that if he looked pathetic enough, then eventually his trinemate might come over and give him some sympathy.

After five or ten minutes of not being noticed, Skywarp glanced up from worrying at the welds on his pedes and found the blue seeker clear on the other side of the hangar, talking with Blitzwing. Megatron had put the triple-changer with the fliers today, and it seemed to Skywarp that he was monopolizing a suspicious amount of Thundercracker's attention. He scowled their way, hoping that Blitzwing would turn around and get the hint. Was it just him, or was the triple-changer standing closer to his trinemate than he would usually dare? Perhaps Starscream could scare him off...

It took a moment of scanning the crowd before Skywarp remembered that his trine leader wasn't there. He sighed and nestled his chin back down on his knees, reaching for Starscream in their bond instead. The other seeker pushed back, tired but aware enough to be annoyed at his trinemate's concern, and Skywarp felt marginally better. If only he could do the same with Nubby.

“...not if it was me.”

“I mean… I guess he’s still injured. Longhaul says he still can’t fly or warp, so it’s not like he could do much if he did come…”

Skywarp looked around for the source of the not-so-hushed voices and found Acidstorm and Bitstream darting glances at him and trying to mutter inconspicuously in a nearby corner.

“Fair enough, but if it was  _ me _ , and  _ my _ son got stolen by Autobots, I woulda  _ swum _ to shore if that’s what it took to get him back,” Bitstream huffed, looking over at Skywarp again and freezing when he realized the other seeker was looking back.

“Hey, uh... War... Skywarp?” a new voice ventured before Skywarp could let them know what they could do with their opinions. The seeker glanced up to see Ramjet hovering just over his right shoulder.

“Aren't you supposed to be in the brig?” Skywarp asked, shooting a dirty look at Acidstorm and Bitstream’s rapidly retreating wings.

“Got let out early for emergency support,” Ramjet explained. He shuffled awkwardly, his wings hung low and loose in a clear sign of contrition. “Listen, about the other night? I didn't mean those things I said about your... about Starscream.”

“Still said them,” Skywarp pointed out, turning his gaze down to his right servo and flexing it carefully. Hook had elected to piece his original crushed components back together rather than replace any of the digits completely, and there was still a certain amount of stiffness every time he tried to move them.

“Well... yeah,” Ramjet went on after a slight pause. “But I was also overcharged. It was stupid of me.”

“Yeah, it was,” Skywarp agreed. “So was trying to force yourself on me in the showers the day before that.”

“I wasn't... I wouldn't have  _ forced _ you!” the conehead protested.

Skywarp made a disinterested sound and pulled on one of his digits to help it straighten completely. Fragging Optimus Prime...

“Anyway, uh... I did mean the other thing I said. About you,” the other mech continued, scuffing one pede across the hangar floor. “And I just wanted to say, I'm gonna do everything I can to help get your son back. For you.”

“What thing that you said about me?” Skywarp asked, looking up at him with feigned ignorance. Ramjet blinked.

“You know; when I... I accidentally said I...” he stammered. “About how I feel about you?”

The seeker made a face like he was thinking hard.

“Was it before or after you smashed my trineleader's face in?” he asked. “Which, by the way, I don't notice you promising to get  _ him _ back.”

Ramjet's faceplates flushed. “Why are you making this so difficult?” he demanded.

“Uh... maybe because I don't want it?” Skywarp returned, hiding a wince as he pushed himself off his crate and back onto healing thrusters. “I'd say you'll find someone better someday, but with our species in the state it is, that seems unlikely.”

He left the conehead gaping after him and limped his way to where Thundercracker was poring over the mission plans one last time, an agitated look on his face and one servo rubbing across the top of his cockpit.

“You don't think this is going to work, do you?” Skywarp guessed, a sinking feeling creeping into his tanks.

“What? No, that's not...” Thundercracker looked up quickly. “When did you get here?”

“You look unsure,” his trinemate frowned.

“I'm sure it'll be fine, Warp,” Thundercracker told him, reaching over to brush a servo over the back of the younger seeker’s helm. “I just feel a little funny is all. Scrapper said it’s residual strain from when you and Star almost died the other day. How are you doing?” 

“I'm getting by,” he said, forcing a smile and wracking his processor for a conversation topic that had nothing to do with their missing family members. “And are you sure your feeling funny doesn’t have anything to do with the way Blitzwing keeps looking at you like he wants to get between your legs sooner than later?” he settled for.

Thundercracker rolled his optics and leaned a little closer. “I may or may not have gotten wasted and let him clang me the other night while you were in the medbay,” he muttered.

And  _ that _ was  _ so _ a better topic of conversation than Skywarp  _ ever _ could have hoped for. He gasped in genuine surprise, one servo flying to his mouth. He couldn't even remember the last time Thundercracker had hooked up with someone.

“Well, well, well,” he smirked, lowering his servos. “Who knew a trine tragedy was all it took to get you to open your panel.”

“Ugh, I know,” the other seeker groaned. “It was  _ such _ inappropriate timing. Here I thought I was the responsible one all these years, but my trinemates get severely damaged and I go and 'face the first willing frame that comes my way.”

“T.C.,” Skywarp interrupted, clapping a servo over the blue seeker's shoulder. “You are perfectly within your rights to relieve stress with some good old-fashioned fragging whenever you need. No one's judging you.”

“Megatron was,” Thundercracker muttered.

“You...” Skywarp's optics cycled wide. This story just kept getting better. “You got caught by  _ Megatron!? _ Where in Primus's name were you fragging!?”

“In our quarters,” his trinemate told him, giving a disapproving look at the implication he might have been doing it anywhere else in the base. “He showed up the next morning and it was kind of obvious why Blitzwing was there.”

“Star and I need to leave you unsupervised more often,” Skywarp concluded.

“I'm glad my embarrassment gives you ample cause for entertainment,” Thundercracker snorted. “Now, help me get all these idiots rounded up so I can go get our idiot back.”

 

* * *

 

Starscream was beginning to get bored. Almost four days now he’d been in the Autobots’ brig, and nothing had happened since he’d gotten to express his opinions to Sideswipe on that second morning. He’d been bracing himself for further verbal abuse, interrogation, or possibly even torture, but no. Prime seemed content to let him sit down here and convalesce without even so much as a magazine to keep him company.

Prime himself hadn’t even deigned to come visit him. Nor Prowl nor Ironhide, for that matter. The only Autobot of any importance that Starscream had seen in the last few days was Ratchet, who stopped by at least twice a day to check on said convalescence.

The seeker wished they’d at least send Cliffjumper down to guard him again; he’d thought of a few choice things to say to the minibot since their last encounter.

“You know,” Starscream spoke up while Ratchet was doing his morning examination on that fourth day, “you Autobots have clearly spent too much time cavorting with humans. You’ve forgotten what Cybertronian etiquette entails. If we had Prowl in our brigg, Megatron would have made sure to greet him personally.”

“Yeah, accompanied by your best ‘interrogators’ no doubt,” Ratchet huffed.

“Oh, because Autobots have such a moral high ground when it comes to interrogation methods,” the seeker returned, rolling his optics in disgust.

“Yes, well,” Ratchet muttered as he started unbolting the temporary patches he’d put down over Starscream’s middle. “Why bother torturing you when giving you back in one piece could get us the treaty of a lifetime?”

Starscream’s intakes clenched unpleasantly.

“You tell Megatron that if he even  _ thinks _ about surrendering to get me back, I will never speak to him again!” he snarled

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get him on the horn first thing,” the medic snorted in return, twisting one of the bolts more sharply than was probably necessary as he pulled it out. Starscream gasped in pain.

“Abuse!” he shrieked. “Abuse of medical oath!”

His guard for the day -- the police car that wasn’t Prowl -- snickered outside the cell.

“Welcome to Ratchet’s tender care,” he called in through the bars.

“I’ve never abused anything in my life except sarcasm,” Ratchet snapped at him. “Not my fault if we’re so understaffed I gotta work far faster than is comfortable on most of you, and I will never believe those hacksaws you Decepticons call medics are any gentler.”

“At least we have  _ enough _ medics,” Starscream sniffed. “Certainly shows a lack of foresight on your precious Prime’s part, if you ask me. Two fully trained medics for a ship of over 50 mechs… Meanwhile, we have  _ six _ for the same number, and  _ we _ weren’t even planning on this being more than a quick raiding mission. Clearly, Megatron is the superior-- Ouch! Cockpit hinges are sensitive, you bolt head!”

“I know,” Ratchet grunted unrepentantly.

Starscream gritted his dentae and stayed quiet while the medic finished, contenting himself with plans for an escape that couldn’t come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

After three full days with his son, Sideswipe finally felt like he was starting to get the hang of this whole parenthood thing. He could now tell more or less if Sonic wanted fuel, sleep, or attention from the timbre of his cries, and had even given the newspark his first successful bath the previous afternoon, much to Sunstreaker’s approval.

“He’s a bit of a looker when you clean him up,” the golden mech had remarked when his brother had emerged from the washracks at last with his gleaming son in his arms, and had then helped Sideswipe rub a delicate polish on the sparkling from helm to pede.

Things were going well, and Sideswipe hadn’t seen any sign of the “listlessness” that Prowl had warned about on that first day. Sonic seemed to be sleeping more as the days went on, yes, but Ironhide said that was normal of newsparks. The little seeker was just settling into his new environment and therefore feeling comfortable enough to stay asleep as long as he needed.

On the fourth day, Sideswipe woke from his own recharge feeling better rested than he had since Sonic had arrived and realized that this was because his son hadn’t woken him even once during the night. Confused, the Lamborghini rolled over to see the newspark sleeping peacefully in his own berth, tiny cockpit rising and falling as his vents cycled. Sideswipe reached a servo through the safety bars to brush his digits over a meshy cheek, and then paused as he felt the heat radiating from the little frame.

“Hey, Ironhide?” he called, sitting up so that he could reach in over the top of the bars and lay a full servo on his son.

Sonic was burning up. His arms twitched slightly when Sideswipe touched him, and his next vent stuttered alarmingly.

“ _ Ironhide! _ ” Sideswipe shouted, snatching the sparkling out of the berth and cradling him close against his chassis. Sonic didn’t wake at the disturbance, staying limp and…  _ listless _ in his arms.

On the other side of the room, Ironhide was stirring on his own berth, making indistinct grumbling noises. Sideswipe hurried over and started slapping the older mech’s shoulder, his spark in his throat.

“Ah’m up, kid! Ah’m up!” Ironhide growled. “Wha’s—”

“Sonic is sick!” Sideswipe dove in before his superior could finish the question. “He’s too hot, and his vents are wrong, and he didn’t wake up all night to fuel, and… It was the polish, wasn’t it? I just know it was! We poisoned him, didn’t we!?”

“Calm down already! Susntreaker’s way too careful with cosmetics ta ever poison anyone by accident,” the other mech snapped, motioning for him to hand Sonic over. “He’s prolly just a bit…”

Ironhide trailed off as soon as the sparkling was actually in his arms, expression freezing in place before falling abruptly.

“Slag-suckin’ rust bolts!” he hissed, pushing himself out of the berth.

Sideswipe let out a cry of dismay, reaching to take his son back, but Ironhide held him out of reach.

“Yer too panicked, kid,” he explained at the shocked look on the young mech’s face. “We gotta get ‘im to the medbay, but I’mma carry ‘im ‘til ya getcher helm straight again, kay?”

Sideswipe nodded mutely and followed his superior out into the hall, sending multiple urgent comms to his brother as they went.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp watched the rest of the seekers disappear over the horizon, Bitstream's words echoing in his processor. But what  _ could  _ he do even if he did somehow manage to swim his way to shore? Without his warp drive or his thrusters, there was nothing he could add to the mission that they didn't already have. 

It would be fine, he told himself. Thundercracker had never let him down before. 

When the last of the thrusters had disappeared, the lone seeker turned back and began meandering down to the command room. He figured he might as well wait down there with Frenzy, who was supposed to be helping his creator monitoring communications for this mission.

The cassette was twirling around in one of the chairs, the babble of comms in the background and a bag of carbon crisps in his lap, when Skywarp limped his way through the door. The smaller mech stopped abruptly, a crisp halfway to his mouth when he caught sight of the seeker.

“Oh, uh... Hey, Warp. Um...” He looked down at the snack in his hand and offered the rest of the bag out to the other mech. “You want a crisp?”

Skywarp frowned. He'd never known Frenzy to share anything with anyone beside his siblings.

“I'm good,” the seeker said, sinking into another chair. “Anything going on so far?”

“The grounders just got there,” Frenzy answered, glancing over his shoulder at the radio feeds. “The boss is makin' sure they can't call nobody, an' then they'll move in. So, uh... Can I get you anythin'? You need anythin'? A cube? Some pain killers? A pillow?”

“You glitching or something?” Skywarp asked, edging away from him slightly.

“Ah... Naw, Boss told us to be nice to ya,” the cassette explained, rubbing a servo over the back of his neck. “On account o’ you bein' upset about the Bots stealin' yer son an'... an' what happened to Scre— Starscream.”

Skywarp frowned. It was thoughtful of Soundwave, but he didn't want it right now. “You can just treat me like normal, really,” he said.

“Ah, sweet,” Frenzy sighed, relaxing visibly. “In that case, is it true the little dude's sire turned out to be one o' those sports car losers?”

A surge of anger flooded Skywarp's systems at the reminder, and he clenched his servos on the arms of his chair. “It was Sideswipe,” he snarled. “Frag face said he just wanted to meet his son once… And they called  _ us _ the Decepticons!”

Frenzy let out a low whistle. “Was the 'facin' good at least?” he wanted to know.

The seeker rolled his optics. That was one part of the story that he wasn't planning on sharing anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

“Well, good news is, you didn’t poison him,” Ratchet announced after nearly an hour of diagnostic scans and tests. On Sideswipe’s left, Sunstreaker breathed a sigh of relief, but his twin remained tensed for the other bomb to drop.

“And the bad news?” he asked, his servo tightening on the edge of the incubator that Ratchet had set up for Sonic. Inside it, the sparkling lay on his back, venting in quick, shallow puffs of overheated air.

“Bad news is, the actual trouble’s his spark, and I can’t figure out why,” Ratchet finally announced, and Sideswipe felt the world start to spin around him. “It  _ looks _ like the kind of weakening effect you get when someone loses a bondmate.”

“But he’s a newspark!” Sideswipe blurted in protest to the universe at large. “He doesn’t  _ have _ any bonds to break!”

“Exactly,” the medic agreed. “But if there’s one thing I know about seeker sparks, it’s that they’re finicky at best and outright unstable at worst. That’s the whole reason they do trines. I’m not sure how that would translate into a newspark, though.”

“Then why don’t we ask someone who does?” Sunstreaker suggested. “Starscream is right downstairs in the brigg!”

“And you’d trust medical advice from Starscream?” Ratchet leveled the Lamborghini with a wry expression.

“It’s worth a try!” Sideswipe returned, jumping on his brother’s idea. “I mean, didn’t he used to be a scientist? And he’s a seeker who managed to grow to adulthood, isn’t he? That alone must give him  _ some _ kind of knowledge advantage.”

“Starscream is cold-constructed,” Ratchet sighed, rubbing at his optics. “I saw his batch number on his spark chamber when I was sticking him back together the other day.”

“It’s still better than nothing!” the Lamborghini insisted.

Ratchet opened his mouth to retort, just as all three of the mechs’ comms went off—a high priority alert from Optimus himself.

“How much you wanna bet Megatron’s out there getting revenge?” the medic grumbled, starting toward the door. “Sideswipe, you stay here with your son. Try and give him some fuel in an hour or so, but don’t stress if he doesn’t take it. I can get him a drip later. Comm me if anything happens.”

Sunstreaker hesitated at his brother’s side.

“They probably don’t need me, right?” he asked.

Ratchet gave him a calculating glance.

“Stay with your brother,” he said eventually. “I’ll tell Prime you’re unavailable.”

 

* * *

 

There was never anything quite so boring as being one of the ones who got left behind on a raid, and doubly so when it was one that Skywarp had such a high personal stake in.

“I’m surprised you’s didn’ ask to go along,” Frenzy commented after the two had been sitting in awkward silence for a good half-hour or so.

“Not much I could do if I did,” Skywarp pointed out. “My thrusters aren’t fully healed yet, so I can’t fly, and Hook won’t reactivate my warp drive because Megatron thinks I’m gonna warp straight over to the Autobots’ base if he does.”

“Well… would ya?” the cassetticon wanted to know.

“What could I do there? They beat me once, they’d just do it again,” the seeker mumbled, tucking his knees up against his cockpit. One of the nice things about being a seeker on a ship designed to accommodate the likes of Astrotrain and Megatron was that even the rickety command center chairs were large enough to curl up in.

“Hm,” Frenzy grunted. “Must suck ta be you right now, huh?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” Skywarp rolled his optics and then turned his attention back to the battlefield schematic projected over the main monitor.

Their comrades’ positions were mapped out in the coordinate grid as little purple badges with the first glyph of each soldier’s name on their respective token. Meanwhile, the device they were aiming for was a large black square in one corner of the facility schematic that Soundwave had supplied. As Skywarp watched, the tokens bearing Megatron and Soundwave’s glyphs respectively began descending a flight of stairs toward it.

Outside, the seekers were wheeling through the air in a small purple swarm, spreading now and coming back for a centralized attack then with Thundercracker’s token at the forefront each time. Skywarp wondered how much more elegant the patterns would look if he and Starscream were out there with their trinemate. The formation looked awkward and unbalanced with one trine incomplete.

Megatron and Soundwave’s tokens continued descending through the building, pausing here and there where they must have run into human forces.

Skywarp heaved another sigh and let his chin sink down onto his knees. He felt weirdly heavy and lethargic, despite the fact that he’d done little but recharge for the last few days. It was as if the reservoir that had once held Nubby’s fuel (broken in Prime’s attack and switched off in his son’s absence) had been filled instead with some kind of ultra dense metal.

What were the Autobots feeding Nubby, he wondered. Who was rocking him to sleep and making sure he stayed clean? Was he scared? Did he miss his creator? Or… did he like it better in a home that was dryer and so much roomier than their own? What if he preferred his sire to his creator? What if he didn’t recognize Skywarp anymore when they did get him back?

A shiver ran up the seeker’s spinal struts at the thought, and he tried to shove it out of his mind. Nubby was  _ his son _ . He had carried him and birthed him and there was no way any crummy Autobot could ever replace that bond. It was like the bond he had with his trine.

Speaking of which…

Skywarp sat up as something Thundercracker-y tugged on his attention. On the floating schematic, his trinemate’s token was still moving along at the head of the seekers' formation. He strafed several human vehicles on the ground before pulling up to swoop around and... stuttering.

Concerned, Skywarp sent him a comm ping, something he almost never did when his trinemates were in battle for fear of distracting them. 

_ ::I'm fine.:: _ Thundercracker shot back, and Skywarp forgot to press the matter farther when the comms suddenly exploded a moment later.

_ Autobots! _

The call was going up on every channel, and Skywarp tensed as little red tokens started flooding into the battlefield. How had they found out? Soundwave had cut all the humans’ communications before the operation started, hadn’t he?

_ “Frenzy,” _ the intelligence officer’s voice cut in over the others.  _ “Report; Autobots’ positions.” _

“Ah…. They’s comin’ in from the northeast, Boss. ‘Bout thirty of ‘em.”

_ “Is Prime with them!?” _ Megatron’s gruff tones demanded.

_ “Prime spotted en route to facility entrance,” _ Thundercracker joined the line.

_ “Good! Let him come.” _

No one argued, but Skywarp could tell that Thundercracker wanted to. His trinemate was currently locked in a dog fight with two of the Aerialbots. It should have been an easy match for the older seeker, even without his trinemates, but somehow they were pushing him back, giving chase more than being chased.

Skywarp gripped the arms of his chair, leaning forward with anticipation as he resisted the urge to open up a comm channel to the other seeker. It would only distract him.

Someone fired a shot from the ground that caught one of the Aerialbots’ wings, and the Autobot started coasting downward for an emergency landing. The remaining youngling was apparently too distracted by his gestaltmate’s distress to notice when Thundercracker swerved out of his line of fire, moving as if to pull around behind him. He never made it, though.

Skywarp felt a tug of panic as, on the projection, his trinemate dipped, righted, and then all sensation from Thundercracker cut off as the blue jet started to plummet straight for the ground.


	19. ...But It Pours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully... I did not forget anything in this chapter. :|

Despite suddenly flipping out of alt mode and losing consciousness several thousand feet off the ground, Thundercracker was okay. By a miracle of chance, Blitzwing had managed to catch him before he hit earth, and the rest of the air force had provided cover for them to make an emergency retreat. However, the loss of the sole remaining member of their command trine had thrown the Decepticon force as a whole into something of a tizzy, and they’d ended up losing the earthquake generator to the Autobots.

Skywarp tried not to think about how angry Megatron was going to be about all of this as he hurried back to the medbay to meet his returning trinemate.

It wasn’t particularly busy, for once. The battle’s brevity meant that there hadn’t been many casualties, Thundercracker being by far the most severe. Dead End and Dragstrip were muttering dejectedly to each other in one corner with a couple of fresh welds, but it didn’t look like anything serious.

On the other side of the room, Thundercracker was propped up on one of the main berths with just about every diagnostic machine on the ship attached to or otherwise scanning him while the full constructicon gestalt buzzed around him like a swarm of frantic, green insecticons.

“I’m fine!” the seeker was insisting, trying to wave Mixmaster away from plugging yet another cable into one of the medical ports on his left wrist. “I feel better than I did this morning, in fact.”

“I don’t care how you  _ feel! _ ” Scrapper snapped at him, brandishing a datapad covered in readouts. “Your HUD history says you had a massive spark surge just before you lost consciousness. Thundercracker, do you have any idea what Megatron would have done to me if you’d hit the ground and died because I didn’t realize there was something wrong when you came to me this morning!?”

“Execute you where you stood?” Thundercracker guessed.

“That's not something to laugh about!” Longhaul scolded. 

“Look, guys, I'm just…” the seeker began, and then trailed off when he caught sight of his trinemate standing in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Warp. Sorry to scare you—”

Skywarp crossed the room almost instantaneously to throw himself at the other seeker. 

“Don't you dare!” he sobbed, wrapping Thundercracker in a crushing embrace. “Don't you dare ever  _ think _ about leaving me!”

“I'm not… Warp, I'm _ fine! _ ” Thundercracker reiterated. “It's just stress.”

“Stress doesn't cause spark spasms in an otherwise perfectly healthy mech in the prime of his life,” Hook cut in. “Until we know what's going on with you, you're not leaving that berth.”

“But—” the seeker started to protest and was cut off yet again when the medbay doors slammed open and Megatron himself came storming through. 

“Thundercracker, you  _ bleeding idiot! _ ” he bellowed. “You’d  _ better _ be dying, or I’ll kill you myself!”

The seeker blanched, and Skywarp was opening his mouth to protest this hostility when their commander continued:

“Do you have any idea what Starscream would do to me if he came back and you had died on my watch!?” he demanded. “What were you  _ thinking _ going out on a mission when you knew you were unwell!? Scrapper, what were  _ you _ thinking  _ letting _ him go out when you already knew he was having fragging  _ spark fluctuations!? _ ”

“There was no reason to think…” the constructicon started to argue.

“I will decide what is and isn’t reasonable around here!” their commander barked over him. “You realize that this debacle has cost us our objective today, and by extension our chance to rescue my second-in-command  _ and _ our most vulnerable crew member!? You realize that Skywarp’s son could very well be  _ dying _ as we speak!?”

“Woah… I mean, the Autobots are a bunch of dumbafts, but I think they at least know how to take care of a sparkling,” Skywarp cut in with a nervous laugh. “Nubby’s just fine over there. I’m sure he misses me, but he’s fine. Isn’t he?”

Megatron blinked at him in obvious surprise, and Thundercracker for some reason started avoiding both of their gazes.

“You… Don’t you know?” Megatron asked.

“It’s not something we really spread around,” Thundercracker muttered, “even among each other. Not unless it’s necessary.”

“What’s not?” Skywarp wanted to know, his fuel pump starting to pound uncomfortably hard.

“Why the frag not?” Megatron added.

“Because every Prime ever has had some reason to want less seekers in the world, whether because of ratioist bigotry or criticizing their fuel consumption rates or because they were allied with you,” Hook spoke up. “As a group, they’ve gotten rather mum about how easy it actually is to kill them. It took me half the war to get a seeker medic to explain to me why our airforce numbers so often dropped in threes!”

Skywarp felt his tanks drop into his pedes.

“But… Nubby doesn’t have a trine,” he murmured. “And you said his spark was surprisingly healthy just before… all this started.”

“Yeah, because he was with his creator’s entire trine,” the medic reiterated. “Being with his sire will have kept him stable marginally longer than usual, but he’ll be hitting a critical stage soon. We’ll have to get him out of there sooner than later.”

Skywarp blinked at Hook before looking to Thundercracker for some kind of reassurance, but his trinemate was just looking down at his servos as he did when avoiding difficult situations.

“No,” the purple seeker insisted. “No, that’s not…”

He couldn’t breathe. It felt like they were ripping his son away all over again. He didn’t realize that he was backing away until his wings collided with Megatron’s broad chest and the larger mech gripped his shoulders as if to steady him.

“If you knew this, Hook, then why didn’t you say something about it sooner?” the warlord demanded. “This together with what happened to Thundercracker today… Just where do your loyalties lie right now, doctor?”

Hook visibly bristled, and Skywarp could see the effect ripple outward through the rest of his gestalt.

“I may have a reputation for callousness, my lord, but I do know when certain pieces of information might be too difficult for my patients to bear,” he said, slow and icy. “Like telling a creator that not only is his son kidnapped, but also is liable to  _ die _ before we can retrieve him. Or telling  _ you _ why Starscream will not bear your heirs.”

And now Skywarp could feel Megatron’s anger spilling off of him in hot waves as the warlord’s grip on him tightened.

“Know your place, doctor!” Megatron snarled. “Whatever you  _ think _ you know is irrelevant anyway in the face of what Prime’s done to him!”

“Hook!” Scrapper spoke up warningly as his gestalt mate prepared to reply.

“He’ll find out someday,” Hook scoffed. “All he’d have to do is open Starscream’s medical files. He has the clearance.”

“Find out what?” their commander demanded. “My patience for your prideful tantrums is at its limit for today, Hook.”

“Nothing,” Scrapper insisted while the rest of the constructicons quickly found other things to be busy with.

“If I do have to open Starscream’s files myself, I can assure you I will not be amused,” Megatron growled.

“That Starscream’s been barren for millions of years!” Hook finally blurted. “Ever since  _ you _ took a fusion cannon to him for failing to hold our fuel stores against Autobot attack!”

Skywarp felt his mouth drop open and could see the same surprise etched in Thundercracker’s features. They both remembered that incident—they’d been there. They’d watched Megatron shove their trine leader to the ground, thinking this would be just another beating (painful to watch, but nothing they hadn’t weathered together before), and not realizing just how much danger Starscream was in until their commander’s weapon was already charging against his lower cockpit.

It was difficult these days—even for Megatron, it seemed—to remember that the mech who’d almost ripped their trine apart over some spilled energon was the same one who now treasured Starscream almost more than either of them ever could.

“I would remember that,” the warlord whispered, his servos slack on Skywarp’s shoulders now. “I would remember…”

“You really think you remember every single time you punished him?” Thundercracker spoke up, his voice low and pained. “Why would you? You weren’t the one hurting.”

Megatron took a step backward.

“The energon store…” he muttered. “Before he left, he… Oh, Primus…”

“He never told me,” Skywarp marveled. “Why don’t you two ever  _ tell me _ things?”

“I didn’t know!” Thundercracker protested. “He didn’t tell me either!”

Skywarp opened his mouth to retort to that when a sudden slam interrupted him. He whipped around to see Megatron in the middle of wrenching his fist out of a rather sizable dent in the wall. The warlord turned back to the rest of them, venting deep and even.

“I have things to take care of,” he said, and then turned to leave, ripping the doors off their tracks when they didn’t open fast enough.

Everyone in the room turned back to Hook, who shrugged unrepentantly.

“What? You think  _ Starscream _ was ever gonna tell him the truth?” he huffed. “Anyway, Thundercracker, let’s focus on you for a bit here.”

The blue seeker groaned and flopped back onto the berth. Skywarp watched the medics hovering around him for a few more moments before turning to follow Megatron’s lead.

 

* * *

 

Something big had happened. If not by the bizarre chorus of heightened emotions rocketing around in his trinebond, Starscream could have guessed from the fact that they’d left  _ Bumblebee _ to guard him. Honestly, it was insulting, and to add injury on top, Ratchet did not stop by to deliver his midday dose of painkillers. Or the afternoon one.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Ratchet hadn’t taken the medical berth away with him when he’d finished his exam that morning, leaving Starscream to find what comfort he could on the bare floor of his cell. It was nearly midnight when the sound of pedes approaching his cell woke the seeker from a fitful slumber. He pushed himself up in a hurry, wincing and clutching at his side as healing mesh and outer plating protested the movement, so that he could present his visitor (Ratchet, he presumed) with indignant scorn rather than indignity.

“Well, well, well,” he sneered, readying a snide remark about punctuality as he turned to face the doctor, only to find an entirely different sort of visitor on his doorstep.

“Starscream, your presence is requested on the bridge,” Optimus Prime announced.

The seeker gaped at him, voice temporarily stolen by a sudden stab of pain in his side as the memories of how he’d gotten here flashed fresh through his processor.

“It seems you are not as well as I had hoped,” the Prime commented. “I can call for Ratchet to bring a berth on which to transport you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own, no thanks to you!” Starscream snapped, forcing himself to his pedes. He wasn’t about to get wheeled through the Autobot base, not only a captive but a helpless one. “Who exactly requests my presence? I’m not to be ordered around like some common drone, you know.”

“I think… that it is best if you see for yourself,” Optimus replied, pulling two pairs of cuffs from his subspace.

“So I am to be shackled like a slave?” the seeker asked, eyeing the pair of manacles that he didn’t doubt would entirely disable his thrusters once applied. “Not the political message I imagine you want to send to your followers: a Prime walking through his base with a subservient seeker on a leash. Just think of the implications.”

“I see no issue as you never have or ever will be anything like subservient, Starscream,” Optimus returned. “However, if you fight, I will bind more than your wrists and ankles.”

“Kinky,” Starscream smirked.

“Aw, really, Screamer,” Ironhide’s amused voice chimed in from somewhere behind Optimus. “What would yer boyfriend think if he knew you were flirtin’ with the enemy?”

Probably get hopeful about the possibility of a threesome, if his old journal entries were anything to go by, Starscream reflected sardonically, and his feelings on that matter must have shown in his expression because Optimus flinched back from him slightly.

“Well, we had best be going,” the Prime announced, reaching for the controls to open Starscream’s cell. “I got the feeling this was a rather urgent matter.”

The seeker made no attempts to school his features into anything less hostile as they restrained him, especially after Ironhide’s comment that he’d be far more attractive if he’d smile sometimes. Starscream made sure to smack him in the face with a wing at the first opportunity.

The walk up to the bridge was not as easy as Starscream tried to pretend. He was so focused on staying upright and putting one pede in front of the other that he almost didn’t notice he had an audience until Skyfire’s familiar frame caught his optic at the end of one hall. The shuttle bot was standing behind the Autobots’ resident flock of youngling seeker disasters, wringing his servos and twitching his wings up and down. Starscream tried to ask with his optics what he was fussing about so much, but Ironhide grabbed him by the helm and turned him forward again.

“That boy’s got enough to worry ‘bout wi’out you makin’ optics at ‘im again,” he grunted.

Starscream hissed back, resisting the urge to chide the older mech for his obvious prejudices. Just because  _ some _ seekers liked to get their kicks anywhere they could didn’t mean that  _ all _ seekers did. But if arguing with Autobots about things like stereotyping or systemic racism did any good, then there wouldn’t have been a war to begin with.

The bridge, when they reached it, was suspiciously empty. Apart from Starscream and his escorts, there was only Prowl and Jazz. Starscream couldn’t help but notice that Prowl seemed to have discovered a whole new level of tension in his stupid little door wings, and even Jazz looked uncharacteristically somber. Although, judging by the dirty look Prowl shot in his friend’s direction when he thought no one else was looking, that may not have had anything to do with whatever Starscream had been summoned to the bridge for.

“Well?” the seeker demanded when Optimus led him to a halt right in front of Teletraan 1’s main console, which was entirely black. “What am I here for? Don’t tell me you dolts can’t even fix your own—”

“Starscream?”

The seeker’s spark did a full somersault as the familiar voice drifted out of the console.

“Star? Are you there? Hey… Is this thing on, Megatron? I don’t think he can see us.”

“You’re covering the camera, Skywarp,” Megatron’s gravelly tones answered, and Starscream almost broke down into tears right then and there as the blackness lifted with a little “Oh,” from Skywarp and suddenly there they were.

“Star, you look awful! What did they do to you!?” Skywarp wailed, throwing himself forward so that he almost covered the entire camera again. Megatron pulled him back with a huff of not-quite-frustration, and Starscream realized that they were not on the bridge, as he would have expected, but in one of his own old labs. He pushed the curious venue aside for the time being to focus instead on drinking in everything he could about them.

It felt like it had been much longer than four days since Starscream had seen them. They both looked worn and tired, both riddled with recent welds and optics bearing the telltale dim rings of recharge deprivation. Starscream stepped toward the screen without even realizing, and Optimus tugged him back.

“Chains, Prime?” Megatron asked, an optic ridge rising testily. “You would bring my mate before me in shackles?”

“I would consider it an insult to his skills if I didn’t,” Optimus returned.

Starscream had more important things on his mind, though.

“What did you give him?” he demanded of the two figures on the screen.

“Whaddayou mean?” Skywarp blinked, but Megatron took his meaning right away.

“Nothing, Starscream,” he assured the seeker. “Prime simply agreed that it was warranted.”

“Articles of war do allow for communication between bondmates if information about one or the other’s health needs to be transferred,” Prowl explained from somewhere to the side.

Starscream was about to protest that he and Megatron weren’t bonded when Skywarp interrupted with, “And I’m allowed to pick a proxy for T.C. because he can’t be here,” and Starscream’s attention snapped back to his trinemate.

“Why not?” he demanded. “What happened to him? Warp, what have you been doing while I was gone!?”

“Thundercracker is unwell,” Megatron answered before Skywarp could spout any of his nonsense. “He passed out in mid-flight during an operation this morning. I’m sorry I can’t give you any other information in front of the current audience, but I’m sure you know better than I what his current status is.”

Thundercracker’s current status felt perfectly healthy in Starscream’s opinion. Sure, there’d been some worrisome business earlier in the day (probably when this supposed fainting spell had happened) but he’d been a steady hum of generally stressed out Thundercracker-ness ever since. Maybe this was Megatron’s way of saying, “I know you know he’s fine, but it was a convenient excuse to call you.”

Starscream nodded gravely, just in case.

“More importantly, can you find out if my  _ son _ is okay!?” Skywarp blurted. “Here I was just upset about them taking him away from me because, like, can you be anymore just… such a  _ Prime _ , Optimus!? But now T.C. and Hook are telling me that he might be  _ dying _ because he’s not supposed to be away from me for too long, which of course no one ever bothered to fragging  _ tell me _ , and they won’t let me  _ see him _ like I’m not his creator or something, and just--”

“Ratchet is assessing him,” Prowl interrupted, stepping forward. “He should be able to keep him stable until--”

“Prowl!” Optimus interrupted sharply, and there was a long silence, during which Prowl looked like he might be about to throw himself at his commander right then and there. Interesting. But then Jazz stepped forward and put a cautious servo on his arm. The intelligence officer whirled around with a single siren whoop that made everyone in the room jump before he stormed out the door.

Starscream filed the incident under, “...Okay, then,” and turned back to the screen where Skywarp somehow looked even more stressed than he had before.

“What does he mean, ‘Ratchet’s assessing him?’” the purple seeker asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“I’ll figure it out,” Starscream assured him. He tried to step toward the screen again, and this time his knee buckled beneath him as pain shot up his side once again. Ironhide caught and righted him, but he could already hear Megatron fussing over his condition.

“I’m fine!” the seeker snapped before his commander could make a fool of himself. “I’m perfectly fine, I just…”

Hadn’t had his pain killers all day. Usually, Ratchet or one of his assistants came down to check on Starscream every couple of hours, but he’d seen none of them today. And Prowl said that Ratchet was assessing Nubby. Was there something so seriously wrong with the sparkling that the Autobots’ chief medic had been engaged in treating it for the entire day?

“Starscream, you don’t have to be fine all the time,” Megatron sighed, pulling the seeker out of his spiraling thoughts. “It’s okay to be broken every now and then. I can handle it.”

“No you can’t,” Starscream snorted. “You went and got your arm blasted off just because I got a little mesh wound.”

“Your fuel pump was hangin’ out,” Ironhide reminded him.

Starscream sneered at him.

“You have one more minute,” Optimus announced suddenly, and Starscream whipped around to glare at him.

“I don’t suppose some privacy would be too much to ask,” Megatron grumbled.

“Yes, it would,” the Prime agreed.

“ _ Please _ , can I just  _ see _ my son!” Skywarp begged, a couple of tears glistening in the corners of his optics. “He needs me! You know he does!”

“Until our medics can make a confirmation of your claims, we know only that you wish to reclaim him,” Optimus answered.

“Like any creator would!” Starscream snapped at him. “Honestly, Prime! Were you not held enough as a sparkling or something!?”

“Thirty seconds,” Ironhide cut in.

Skywarp let out a desperate sort of wail and darted forward as if planning to claw himself through the screen. Megatron snatched him back, holding the purple seeker tight against himself, and Starscream couldn’t help a twinge of envy that he wasn’t the one encircled in those strong, reassuring arms.

“Starscream, I’m sorry,” the warlord blurted. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Sorry for what?” the seeker demanded, feeling his cheeks burn as Prime and Ironhide both started shuffling awkwardly.

“Starscream,” the other mech pleaded, and there was such sadness and regret in his optics that Starscream felt something like fear trill through him.

_ What had he done? _

Or, perhaps more importantly, what was he  _ going _ to do?

“Megs, don’t do anything stupid,” the seeker breathed.

The warlord just smiled sadly at him. Starscream wracked his processor for something -- anything -- he could say that might make his commander rethink whatever insanely terrible thing he was clearly contemplating.

“I lo--” he started to blurt, just as the transmission cut.

The seeker stood, knees shaking slightly, and stared at the blank monitor for a good minute or so while everything swirled through his helm. Skywarp’s son was possibly dying. Megatron was about to do something stupid. There may or may not be something wrong with Thundercracker… The time for plotting and planning was over. Starscream needed to get out of here -- now.

“Starscream? It is time you returned to your cell,” Optimus announced, reaching out for the seeker’s shoulder.

Starscream turned to face him, and finally let his knees collapse beneath himself.

 

* * *

 

A part of Skywarp was aware how pathetically unprofessional it was to hang on his commander’s battleworn plating and bawl his optics out, but there was no one else here, and he had a feeling they were well past that by now.

“Enough is enough,” Megatron rumbled after a minute or so, and the seeker finally pulled back, wiping at his optics.

“S-sorry,” he hiccuped.

“Not you,” the warlord grunted. “This situation. This… war.”

Skywarp stopped crying, not sure he’d heard properly.

“Sir?” He blinked up at his commander, who seemed to be staring at something in the middle distance.

“I should have ended it years ago,” Megatron continued. “I should have ended it two million years ago.”

“But… the cause…” Skywarp stammered, wondering if he should call Soundwave as it seemed their leader was having some kind of break down.

“We broke ways with our cause ages ago, Skywarp. I don’t know that I even remember what it was anymore,” the warlord sighed. He raised his servos and stared at them as if he’d never seen them before. “Everything they ever accused me of being, I became. Everything I ever hoped to have one day, I’ve already destroyed.”

“Um…” Skywarp was genuinely concerned now. “I mean, you did get rid of the Senate and… stuff.”

“And where are the poor and downtrodden masses I claimed I’d protect in so doing?” Megatron returned. “Where the needy and destitute who flocked to the safety of my banner once upon a time? I have only my soldiers left, and even then, naught but a small number. The falcons choke on the fumes of the halcyon’s nest…”

“Hal… what?” Skywarp was about to comm Soundwave (Megatron waxing sadly poetic couldn’t be good for anyone) when his commander turned around and clapped a servo to the back of his neck, making the smaller mech jump and lose his train of thought.

“Halcyon -- a bird said to have built their nests in the middle of the mercury seas in Cybertron’s earliest days. They symbolize peace, though experts debate whether they ever existed at all,” the warlord recited. “Fitting, don’t you think? Fighting four million years for something that’s probably just a myth anyway… You’re a good mech, Skywarp.”

“Wha… I am?”

“A little too free thinking to be a truly good soldier, but a good mech. Your spark was in the right place when you brought your son to meet his sire. I don’t hold it against you that Prime’s wasn’t.”

A comforting sense of warmth started to spread through the seeker’s frame, and he felt tears starting to well up in his optics again.

“You’re an excellent creator,” Megatron continued, “and I only hope that you will raise your son for something other than war.”

“Sir, I only hope that I can raise him at all,” Skywarp choked.

“You will,” the warlord assured him, giving his shoulder an absent pat. “That much I promise you. My apologies for this, by the way.”

Skywarp was about to tell him that it was quite alright—strange as all get out, but alright—when Megatron suddenly rammed a digit into the side of his helm, just behind his left audial sensor. The seeker yelped in pain and stumbled back from him with error messages flashing in his HUD to inform him that his comm systems had just been knocked offline.

“Take care of Starscream for me,” he heard his commander call just before the sound of the lab doors locking.

“Wha…  _ Lord Megatron! _ ” Skywarp gasped, throwing himself at the doors. 

He scrabbled at the control panel for a few seconds before realizing that his commander had overridden them. For whatever reason, he had locked Skywarp in here with no means of contacting the rest of the ship, just after asking him to take care of Starscream? Why would he say that? Megatron was far better at taking care of Starscream than Skywarp had ever been. Everything Megatron had just said was weirdly cryptic and nonsensical. What was he trying to say? 

“Why! Am I! So!  _ Stupid!? _ ” Skywarp despaired, punctuating each word with a kick to the infuriatingly sturdy door.

He should have known that there was something strange going on when Megatron had said they would do this in Starscream’s lab of all places, but he’d blithely accepted his commander’s explanation that he wanted privacy for this. Why hadn’t he questioned Megatron for not telling Soundwave about the call? The only reason the warlord wouldn’t have informed his communications officer about something like making contact with the enemy base was if he’d thought Soundwave would interfere with whatever he had planned, and he’d only have to worry about Soundwave interfering if he already knew that his plan was a really, really bad one.

Skywarp wanted his son back, and Starscream, but if Megatron went and got himself killed or something in the process, what kind of a life would they have to come back to? Without Megatron to guide them, the Autobots would overrun them in a matter of days anyway.

After several minutes of pounding at the door, Skywarp finally gave in and let himself sink down against it instead. There was nothing left for him to do except wait. He had no warp drive, no weapons, no trine, no comms… Either Megatron would fix things in one grand, last-ditch effort, or Skywarp was never going to see his son again, but either way, he was stuck here until it was over.

The seeker curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his lower cockpit, and tried to remember what it had felt like when he’d carried his newspark inside himself: the foreign sensation of another frame moving inside him, the warmth of a second spark turning so close to his own, the weight of such a delicate life… It had been barely over a month since he’d finally gotten to hold his son for the first time. He could still easily recall the sense of reverent awe and the overwhelming need to protect and cherish the little seekerling that had flooded him from the moment he’d laid optics on him. And then, at the first chance he had, he’d utterly failed his son in every possible way.

Skywarp sat up suddenly, slamming his fists to the floor on either side of himself. Megatron was right: enough was enough.

Unintelligent Skywarp may have been, but he was also very, very good at not giving up. It was how he’d ended up with his trine in the first place, after all. He was  _ not _ going to let his entire life go down the drain while he was stuck sitting on his backside feeling sorry for himself!

The seeker pushed himself back to his pedes and turned to the door again. Somehow, he needed to get through there and let  _ someone _ know what was going on before things got out of control, but how? He didn’t have his warp drive, and he’d never figured out how to hack Starscream’s door control panels.

Although, wasn’t it odd that Starscream would create a lock on his lab door in the first place that could so easily be turned against himself? Normally, Skywarp would have expected that his trine leader to have at least five different contingencies against just such a situation. He turned around to survey the lab again, and his optics fell almost instantly on a selection of boxes in the far corner, all with the label: “Danger: Explosive.”

The ghost of a smile started pulling at Skywarp’s mouth. Maybe—just maybe—he had a chance here after all.


	20. Momentum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long!

"Hey," a low voice spoke, jolting Sideswipe from recharge.

The Lamborghini hastily straightened up to find his brother standing over him with a cube of warm energon in each servo.

"Ratchet said you should go recharge in our room," Sunstreaker told him, shaking the fuel at him pointedly.

Sideswipe took it, but didn't make any effort to move from his place by his son's incubator. His chronometer said it was well after midnight, making it almost 20 hours now since he and Ironhide had first rushed Sonic into the medbay, and they were no closer to finding out what was wrong with him.

"I have to be the worst sire ever," Sideswipe mumbled, his own spark withering at the sight of the tiny seekerling, covered in medical wires and tubes and perfectly still but for the rise and fall of his little cockpit.

Sunstreaker made a noise of exasperation and used his pede to drag a chair next to his brother's.

"Don't go wallowing in self-pity on me now, Sides," he said as he slumped into it.

"I had him for less than a week and I already managed to almost kill him!" Sideswipe despaired.

"Yeah, but that's not your fault, and there are so many ways you could be a worse sire," Sunstreaker pointed out. "You know, Smokescreen's sire used to use him for target practice. Said it would make him stronger. Certainly made him good at disappearing..."

Sideswipe's helm snapped up. He'd been friends with Smokescreen for three million years and never heard anything about that.

"Don't tell him I told you that," Sunstreaker warned. "He really, really doesn't want people to know."

"How come he told you?" Sideswipe wanted to know.

"Because I'm a good confidante," the other mech sniffed, his chassis puffing out slightly. "People know I have better things to do with my time than gossip."

“Since when!?” Sideswipe demanded.

“Since always,” Sunstreaker insisted.

"Yeah? Like what else have people told you?" his brother prodded.

Sunstreaker side-opticked him for a second and then a sly smile slid across his face.

"Okay, but only because you're feeling down," he said, and Sideswipe leaned forward slightly.

"So, you know Jazz and Prowl?" Sunstreaker began, and the other mech made a noise of disappointment.

" _ Everyone _ knows they're clanging," he scoffed. "Come on, dude. You gotta have something better than that."

"I do," his brother assured him, grin widening. "Because the truth is, they  _ aren't _ clanging."

Sideswipe's optical ridges nearly disappeared into his helm in disbelief.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker continued. "Remember that time Jazz got charged with us, and then Prowl chewed us out for tearing up those fancy trees over by the river? And then you guys were all digging on Jazz about how he could stand to be with a mech like that?"

"Yyes..." Sideswipe agreed, slowly because he had a vague inclination that something like that might have happened at some point, but it was rather hazy.

"So, after that, it was just me and Jazz, and he was like, 'Hey, keep this between me and you, but we're not actually together like that.'"

Sideswipe screwed his face up in confusion.

"Why wouldn't he just say that, then?" he wondered. "Like, when we were teasing him about it? Why would anyone  _ want _ the whole world to think he's dating  _ Prowl? _ "

Sunstreaker shrugged. "Probably because Prowl thinks it makes him look better," he guessed. "Jazz said he was keeping it up as a favor because—get this—Prowl’s his  _ amica _ , but he wouldn't say what kind of favor."

Sideswipe let out a low whistle. "That's... Wow. How did I never know you have more dirt on our faction than Mirage?"

"Because if you did, then they wouldn’t be secrets anymore," his brother pointed out.

"I can keep secrets!" the other mech protested.

"Yeah? That why you gave away that you were the one who knocked up Skywarp before Prime even finished asking the question?" Sunstreaker smirked.

"I kept it secret even from you for almost a year," Sideswipe pointed out. His twin shrugged in concession, and they lapsed into silence.

Sideswipe took a sip of fuel, and then chugged the rest in one go as his frame apparently realized how hungry it was. Even though Sonic hadn't been taking any fuel all day, Sideswipe's filtration system was still making it. Most of it he'd siphoned off for Ratchet to drip feed his son, which meant that he'd finally seen the full volume of what he'd been filtering out of his own supply for the past few days. It was no wonder now that he'd been constantly tired and hungry since Sonic had arrived.

To think that a few days ago, he'd begrudged his son the energy drain, but now he just wished he could do more.

Sensing his twin's downward turn, Sunstreaker reached over and started to rub the back of his neck.

"Remember the last time you spent the whole night sitting up in a medbay?" he broke the silence.

"I try not to think about it, honestly," Sideswipe huffed.

"Oh, come on. It's funny in hindsight," his brother insisted.

"Oh, yeah. Blowing up my own brother by accident was real funny," the red mech snapped back. "You got to be unconscious the whole time, but  _ I _ had to sit here and feel it. It sucked."

Sunstreaker's servo paused and then slid further down to grip his brother's collar seam.

"You reckon trines feel each other the same way we do?" he wondered.

Sideswipe's plating drew together slightly as he considered that.

"You mean, like, maybe Skywarp felt it when Optimus almost chopped Starscream in half?"

There was a pause, and he tried his best to pull away as he felt his twin prodding at him through their bond.

"I mean..." Sunstreaker started. "I was thinking more of Sonic's future, but... Sides, are you... You don't feel guilty about all this, do you? Him being Sonic's creator doesn't change the fact that Skywarp is our enemy, you know."

"Of course I know!" Sideswipe growled, pushing his brother away. "I know, but it doesn't... I'm thinking of Sonic's future, too, okay!? If he pulls through this and grows up... Someday, I'm gonna have to tell him who his creator is and what we did to him! If we win the war, Skywarp will either end up dead or in jail, and I'll have to explain that to my son!"

"Well, glad to hear you're finally starting to think about consequences," a dry voice cut in before Sunstreaker could reply to that. Both brothers looked up to see Ratchet stepping back into the medbay with Wheeljack behind him.

"Did you figure it out?" Sideswipe wanted to know, surging to his pedes.

"We got a possible tip off," Wheeljack responded. "Nothing for sure yet."

"And?" Sunstreaker pressed.

"And what?" Ratchet sniffed.

"What clue?" the golden mech insisted.

Ratchet and Wheeljack exchanged looks before the medic sighed and rubbed the back of his helm with his datapad.

"Megatron and Skywarp called a few minutes ago," he said. "They claim that seekerlings will weaken and die if they're separated from their creators' spark signature for too long, but it sounds kind of farfetched and it's the first I've ever heard of it."

"But if it's true..." Sideswipe started to realize.

"Then we  _ have _ to give him back," Ratchet finished.

Sideswipe's spark sank, and he felt his brother's servo find his own. He turned back to his unconscious son and watched as tiny digits curled and uncurled reflexively for a moment.

"I'd never see him again," he muttered miserably.

"Maybe, but at least he'd be alive," Ratchet pointed out.

"But that might not be what's goin' on," Wheeljack spoke up. "More likely it's their latest ploy at gettin' the little guy back."

"And not a bad one at that," Ratchet added.

"How do we tell?" Sideswipe wanted to know.

"We let Starscream hold him for a few hours and see if he gets better," the medic replied. "I don't know much about seeker sparks, but I have seen gestaltmates help stabilize each other's sparklings when the poor things are stressed. I reckon trinemates probably work about the same."

Sideswipe made a face at the thought of his son spending a few hours in Starscream's presence. Never mind that he'd spent the entire first month of his life with the jerk; that ought to be enough for anyone.

"Now, no way am I giving Starscream exactly what he wants  _ and _ letting him not be in a cell, so we'll need to pack up Sonic's incubator and move him down to..." Ratchet trailed off, straightening up like he was receiving a comm, and then suddenly his customary scowl deepened. "Never mind then," he snapped, tossing his datapad onto the nearest counter and making Wheeljack jump slightly.

"What?" Sideswipe blinked.

"Apparently, Starscream just collapsed," the medic explained. "So, before we do any of that, I'll need to go make sure he isn't leaking out internally. I  _ told _ them to bring him up on a berth, but why would anyone listen to me? It's not like I'm the chief medical officer, or anything..."

Ratchet continued muttering to himself as he snatched a portable medkit off the wall and stomped back out the door.

"Well," Wheeljack broke the silence when he'd gone. "I can do some scans and check his status at least while we're waiting on that."

And that was when the Ark’s alarms went off.

Sideswipe jumped before looking to his brother, an intense feeling of deja vu rolling over him. Sunstreaker just shrugged back.

“I haven’t heard anything,” the other mech told him, “and it’s only been a few hours since the Decepticons’ last move.”

“‘S not an attack,” Wheeljack said, his optics flickering slightly as he scanned internal communications. “Megatron’s sent us a challenge. Dunno what, but Prime wants everyone in the command room for briefing ASAP.”

“Sorry to leave you again so soon, Sides,” Sunstreaker sighed, clapping his brother on the arm as he started for the medbay doors.

Sideswipe clenched his servos and glanced down at Nubby, thinking another couple of hours sitting here alone, waiting for his son to wake up or show any kind of improvement…

“Wait, Sunny!” he called, sprinting to catch the golden mech before he could disappear into the hall. His brother turned expectantly. “Would you… Can we switch this time?”

Sunstreaker’s optic ridges rose.

“I can’t do it again,” Sideswipe explained, hanging his helm slightly. “Sitting here alone and just waiting and worrying… I need to get out and clear my helm.”

A little beyond Sunstreaker, Wheeljack shifted like he was thinking of commenting..

“I could always come right back if anything happened!” Sideswipe insisted, turning to him. “There’s gotta be something I could do to help, though.”

“Not sure how Prime will feel about having a distracted soldier on the field, though, you know?” Sunstreaker pointed out.

“Not sure how Ratchet will feel about you leaving your son right now,” Wheeljack added. “He needs your fuel, after all.”

“You’re distracted too,” Sideswipe reminded his brother. “And Ratchet siphoned enough from me to last a few hours at least. Please, I need this. I haven’t even left the ship in days.”

Sunstreaker heaved a sigh, rubbing a servo over the back of his helm. “Ten to one Prime just sends you right back down here, but I’m fine with staying here if he lets you go.”

Sideswipe threw his arms around his brother in a brief embrace before running back to Sonic’s incubator.

“See you in a bit, buddy,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the sparkling’s cheek. Sonic twitched in his sleep. “Be strong.”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Sunstreaker promised, clapping his brother’s shoulder as they passed each other once more.

 

* * *

 

Skywarp let out a roar of frustration and chucked the tenth box of not-explosives at the wall. He understood why Starscream, as paranoid as he was, might label boxes of screws and datachips as "explosives," but he did not understand why it was proving so difficult to find  _ anything _ explosive in  _ Starscream’s lab. _ His trine leader managed to blow himself up in here at least once a month, it seemed.

Where were the vials of nitroglycerin? The beakers of green stuff that Starscream warned him not to touch almost every time he walked in here? Hell, Skywarp wouldn't mind even just a couple cubes of high grade at this point! He was 98% sure that Starscream kept a stash of  _ that _ somewhere in his lab.

"Of course he wouldn't tell  _ me _ where it is, though," the seeker grumbled as he yanked open another cupboard and found it full of obnoxiously pristine beakers. "Why would he share important information like that with  _ me? _ I'm just their trinemate!"

He slammed the cupboard shut again with a satisfying crash of breaking glass and moved on to the refrigerator, hoping that Starscream would have stored something sufficiently unstable in there.

"I bet  _ Megatron _ knows where the high grade is!" he huffed as he ripped the door clean off its hinges, and then reflected on that for a second. "Some of it, at least."

Then, he let out another cry of frustration as he realized that none of the chemicals stored in the fridge had labels on them. Of course they didn't. Starscream had a spectrometer built into his wrist. Why would he waste time with something like an organization system? Not so scientifically equipped, the best Skywarp could do was maybe chuck the containers at the door and see if any of them exploded on impact. 

He was on the verge of trying just that when he remembered the last time he'd played with unknown chemicals. Vortex and Onslaught had convinced him (while they were all overcharged) that it would be a good idea to raid Mixmaster's secret stores and see if anything burned a nifty color. They'd all three of them ended up in the medbay with severe vent damage because the first one they set fire to had flooded the room with corrosive fumes. Longhaul had said they probably would have died if Soundwave hadn't found them in the nick of time.

And then it hit Skywarp:  _ Soundwave! _

Didn't the intelligence officer always seem to show up out of the blue when Skywarp was doing something really, truly stupid and destructive? Any time he was on the  _ Nemesis _ at least, Soundwave or Ravage was guaranteed to pop out of the metalwork anytime he was in the middle of doing something he'd known he probably shouldn't. It was almost like Soundwave had a telepathic channel devoted entirely to detecting when Skywarp was being stupid because he didn’t know anyone else whose misdemeanors were interrupted as frequently as his own.

Granted, with the amount of mischief Skywarp got up to, there was bound to be something that slipped through the cracks sooner or later, and of course it had ended up being the one that had landed them in this situation to begin with, but still.

Skywarp pulled one of the containers out of the fridge, and thought as hard as he could about drinking it.

"BOY!" he shouted at the top of his vocalizer. "SURE HOPE I CAN TASTE TEST ALL THESE PROBABLY TOXIC CHEMICALS BEFORE SOUNDWAVE FINDS ME! WOULD BE A  _ REAL _ PITY IF I DIDN'T GET TO SEE HOW FAST I CAN BURN A HOLE IN MY TANKS! MAYBE I’LL EVEN  _ EXPLODE!! _ "

It was like magic. One second, he was shouting alone at the wall like a madman, and the next there was a familiar, laser-focused presence pushing on the back of his mind.

Skywarp let out a victory whoop and almost chucked the container he was holding at the wall before remembering that was exactly what he was trying to avoid having to do. Soundwave pressed at him more urgently as he fumbled the mystery chemical, and the seeker let his mind open up.

 

* * *

 

It helped a lot that Starscream actually did feel like slag by the time they'd brought him back to his cell; he wasn't sure if his acting alone would be enough to fool someone so shrewd as Ratchet. It also helped that his guard was now Skyfire—thank you, Primus!

"What happened to him?" the shuttlebot fretted as Ironhide dragged the seeker past him.

"Prolly just emotional strain, but Ratchet’s on ‘is way jus’ in case," the older mech grunted, laying the seeker out on the floor of his cell before finally undoing his cuffs. Starscream made a noise of discomfort and rolled onto his side as soon as he was free.

Skyfire waited until he’d left before clomping his way over to the cell.

“Starscream? Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?” he fussed through the bars.

“Stomach hurts,” Starscream whined, clutching at his injured side.

“On the surface, or more like your tanks?” his friend wanted to know.

“Tanks,” the seeker answered, burying his face in the floor. 

Walking all the way up to the command room had probably been a bad idea, but he didn’t have any warnings about internal leaks, so that was something. If Ratchet would give him some painkillers before Starscream took him hostage, then he should be able to make it a few more hours before he collapsed for real.

“Did you rupture anything?” Skyfire asked.

Starscream was about to answer when a familiar warning flashed across his HUD. This time, he let himself purge, and the distressed noises Skyfire made in response were almost worth it. If he could convince someone who knew him as well as Skyfire did, then surely he could convince Ratchet.

“I’m coming in there!” the shuttlebot announced, and Starscream hastily rolled over onto his back.

“Don’t!” he rasped. If Skyfire was in the cell, it would be a lot harder to get Ratchet into a compromising position.

“Starscream, you’re in distress,” his friend pointed out.

“I don’t want to get you in more trouble!” the seeker blurted, and that was one thing he didn’t have to lie about, at least.

“I’m not going to get in trouble,” Skyfire assured him, and Starscream could hear him inputting the security code.

He was just wracking his processor trying to think if there was any contagious disease he could convince Skyfire he’d come down with when a gruff voice saved him the trouble.

“Skyfire, you had better not be doing what I think you are right now!” Ratchet called down the length of the cell block, and Starscream sent a silent prayer of thanks up to any divine powers that might have decided to exist for his convenience tonight.

“He’s purging,” Skyfire protested to the medic. “Ratchet, he needs help!”

“He’s a  _ Decepticon _ ,” the medic growled as he came even with them. “I’ll grant you he’s probably in a lot of pain, but not even Smokescreen would put credits on that act being real.”

“But—” Skyfire started, and Ratchet cut him off with an impatient noise.

“Oldest trick in the book,” he said, and Starscream glanced through the bars to see him pulling out a medical scanner. “Pretend you’re mortally injured and then take the medic hostage as soon as he comes in to treat you. A good field medic knows better than to walk into a cell with an unrestrained POW unless he’s genuinely in danger of dying within the next few minutes if you don’t.”

Well, that explained why Starscream hadn’t gotten any painkillers all day.

“I can scan him from here and see what he needs,” Ratchet continued.

Starscream rapidly began searching his processor to see if he had any forgotten files on how to manually trigger an internal leak. All he found was data about rerouting energon flow to avoid them.

“See?” he heard Ratchet telling Skyfire. “Inflammation, but no leaks. His self-repair will take care of it by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, for frag’s sake!” Starscream shrieked, surging up. “Can’t you at least get me some painkillers, you hack!?”

Ratchet gave Skyfire a “What did I tell you?” kind of look, and tossed a little packet through the bars.

“Take that,” he said. “I’m not giving you any more morphite. Megatron won’t shut up about it if I give you back to him with a drug dependency.”

Starscream picked up the packet and chucked it back at the bars with a screech of frustration. It bounced off with a fizzle. “At least send someone in here to clean up this mess!” he demanded.

“Starscream, you’re going to hurt yourself more,” Skyfire chided.

“Who gives a frag!?” the seeker snarled, pushing himself onto shaky pedes. “Let me see Nubby already!”

“You mean Sonic?” Ratchet asked drily as he watched Starscream attempt to reach through the bars without burning himself.

“So… Who the frag gave him  _ that _ name!?” Starscream sneered.

“Well, your trinemate hadn’t bothered,” the medic muttered, stowing his scanner back in his portable medkit. “I suppose you’re also going to tell me seekerlings die when separated from their creators?”

Starscream stopped swiping at the bars for a moment while Ratchet’s words sank in, pinging old memories from his advanced medical courses in Vos that he hadn’t bothered paying much attention to. Hadn’t some ancient professor gone on and on for an entire lecture period once about seeker newsparks and their unusual spark signatures, though? It had been millions of years ago, and Starscream had mostly tuned it out at the time because he’d almost never considered the possibility of having seekerlings of his own until the day he suddenly couldn’t, but now that Ratchet mentioned it...

“Nubby’s… Ratchet, is he okay?” the seeker breathed. “What’s going on!?”

Ratchet’s optic ridges went up, and he looked over to Skyfire.

“Did you know anything about this?” he wanted to know.

The shuttlebot shrugged. “I studied seeker biology just so I could treat Starscream in the field,” he said. “I don’t know much about their sparks.”

Starscream latched onto him.

“Yes, you do, Skyfire!” he insisted, because even if Skyfire hadn’t taken all the same classes, his friend had helped him study for all the exams.

“I don’t remember much of it,” his friend told him apologetically.

“Hmm,” Ratchet hummed. “Sounds like I’ll have to reserve judgment.”

Starscream shrieked and kicked at the bars, which only elicited more shrieking.

“If anything happens to that sparkling, it’ll be on your helm!” he screamed. “Yours and Optimus Prime’s!”

“If,” Ratchet reiterated. “It’s been a good long while since I lost a patient, you know.”

“It’s been a good long while since you had a sparkling for a patient!” Starscream returned, clamping a servo over his side as a sharp pain stabbed through one of his tanks.

“I’m not handing a sparkling back over to Megatron because  _ you _ said it was a good idea,” the medic told him.

“You Autobots are going to ruin  _ everything! _ ” Starscream wailed, scuffing a pede across the floor in lieu of being able to stamp it.

“Look, Starscream,” Ratchet sighed. “The fact that your trinemate had a kid hasn’t changed the fact that we’re at war here.”

“But… surely a sparkling’s life is more important,” Skyfire cut in. “If he dies because of our unwillingness to compromise, wouldn’t you feel much worse about that than because he was raised by Decepticons?”

“Listen to the shuttlebot, Ratchet, he’s smarter than you,” Starscream growled.

Ratchet shot him a glare before turning to his comrade. “Look, Skyfire, there’s a lot going on here that you don’t really understand—”

“Because I was frozen for four million years,” the shuttle finished for him.

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” the medic protested.

“But it’s what all of you think,” Skyfire huffed, folding his arms. “Big, kind Skyfire who doesn’t know anything about war… And that’s fair. You’re right; I don’t know about war. I can’t imagine the kinds of things the rest of you guys have been through, but maybe that’s a good thing right now. Maybe what you all really need right now is someone who can step back and say, ‘War or no war, a newspark’s life is at risk here, and we need to do something about that.’”

“We  _ are _ doing something about that,” Ratchet insisted. “But ask yourself honestly: are you really being objective about this? If the sparkling belonged to literally any other Decepticon, would you be so willing to hand him back over, or are you letting your memories of the Starscream you used to know cloud your judgment again?”

“ _ You _ should be asking  _ your _ self if you’re letting your personal opinions cloud your own judgment!” Skyfire returned. “Before the war, would you have taken a sparkling from its creator just for the creator’s political views? That sort of thing was illegal on the Cybertron that I knew!”

“The Cybertron you knew is  _ gone _ , Skyfire! And the creator in question is part of the reason why!” Ratchet shouted back.

“SO ARE ALL OF YOU!”

The words rang through the cell block with enough force that Starscream found himself shaking his helm slightly to clear his audials. He hadn’t heard Skyfire raise his voice like that since well before they’d lost each other in the storm. From the look on Ratchet’s face, he was willing to bet the medic never had.

They all stood in stunned silence for a moment, and then Ratchet’s expression hardened once more.

“Skyfire, you’re getting too close to this whole thing,” he declared. “I don’t think you’re fit to be on guard duty down here. Come with me, and I’ll call someone else to replace you.”

The medic turned to lead the way back out of the cells, and Starscream met Skyfire’s optics. He raised an optic ridge at his friend, who looked like he was fighting some kind of massive internal battle. 

Then, all at once, Skyfire surged toward Ratchet, his servo coming down over his comrade’s helm in a thousand pounds of very apologetic frustration. Starscream gasped in surprise as the medic crumpled to the floor with a grunt.

There was another long silence before Skyfire let out a horrified shout, servos flying to his mouth.

“What did I just do?” the shuttlebot gasped. “Oh, Primus! What did I  _ do!? _ ”

“The right thing,” Starscream told him, his face splitting into a grin. “Now let me out of here already, you beautiful shuttle, you.”

“Ooh, I’m gonna be in so much trouble,” Skyfire moaned, even as he rushed over to enter the security code for the cell bars. “I just… I’m so sick of this whole thing! Everyone’s being such a stubborn aft about it, and I’ve been so angry the last few days, and when Ratchet wasn’t gonna do anything, I just… I don’t wanna have to join the Decepticons!”

“Good,” Starscream grunted as he scooped up the packet of painkillers that Ratchet had tossed him. “Megatron doesn’t want a milquetoast like you.”

The cell bars disappeared, and Starscream stepped out into his friend’s waiting servos.

“Are you really okay?” Skyfire wanted to know, prodding gently at the smaller mech’s side.

“No, I’m really not,” Starscream huffed. He ripped open the packet in his servos and tossed back the capsules inside. “But we don’t have time for me to not be okay, so just help me out.”

Skyfire nodded and then scooped the seeker straight up off the floor. Starscream stiffened for a moment, and then realized this was probably his best bet at making it out of the ship.

“If anyone asks, there was an emergency and you’re taking me to Ratchet,” he grumbled, settling into his friend’s warmth and trying not to think how much it felt like lying in Megatron’s arms.

“I can’t believe I’m helping an enemy soldier escape,” Skyfire moaned as he started toward the exit.

“Think of it as helping to save a sparkling instead, then,” Starscream told him, patting the other mech’s shoulder.

Skyfire just groaned.


	21. Down in Smoke

“Explain,” Soundwave's monotone blared the second the lab doors had rolled back.

“I can’t believe that actually worked!” Skywarp blurted, barreling through the doors so fast that the communications officer had to catch him in his arms to avoid being trampled. “Do you have me telepathically  bugged, or something!?”

“N…” Soundwave started to deny the accusation and then seemed to further consider the seeker he was holding at arms’ length. “Assessment; more or less correct. Monitoring; more rigorous after recent events.”

The seeker let out a low whistle. “So, did you notice when—”

“ _ Explain _ ,” the intelligence officer insisted.

“Okay!” Skywarp redirected his thoughts. “Okay, okay! So, Megatron called the Autobots so we could talk to Starscream 'cause I guess they'll let me talk to him to tell him that T.C. is sick, even though they won't let me see my own son, and then—”

“Explanation; excessive,” the other mech interrupted, and Skywarp felt those searching tendrils wrap around his processor once more. “Megatron's location; report.”

“I dunno,” the seeker told him, trying to lay bare that part of his memories as much as possible. “But he was saying, like, 'Take care of Starscream for me,' and stuff, and Starscream told him not to do anything stupid, and then he knocked out my comms and locked me in the lab and disappeared!”

Soundwave stared down at him in silence for a long moment.

“It's true! I swear, it's all true!” Skywarp assured, slapping the cassette player's upper arm in a nervous flutter.

“Skywarp; believable. Lord Megatron's actions; less so,” Soundwave explained, brushing him off and drawing himself up. “Skywarp; report to medical bay for repairs.”

“It's fine; I can just carry an external comm unit,” the seeker insisted. “We don't need to waste the time.”

“Repairs to warp drive as well as comm unit,” the intelligence officer told him. “After repairs, report to war room; receive blueprints of Ark.”

Skywarp's jaw dropped. He had been trying to convince Soundwave to give him their hard-won information on the Autobot base's layout for  _ years _ , and now he was just  _ giving it away? _

“You... you'll trust me with them?” the young mech breathed.

“Sharing blueprints; lesser of current evils,” Soundwave replied, and despite everything, Skywarp couldn't suppress the grin of delight creeping across his face. “Report to medbay!” the intelligence officer barked.

“Yessir!” Skywarp snapped to attention before sprinting down the hall as fast as his healing thrusters could carry him. In less than an hour, Nubby and Starscream would be as good as his again.

 

* * *

 

“What're you doing here?”

Sideswipe jolted as a digit jabbed itself into a seam in his side armor to prod the sensitive protoform beneath. He'd thought he was well enough obscured in his back corner behind all five of the Aerialbots' wide wings that he wouldn't have to deal with questions, but when he turned around, it was to find Smokescreen watching him curiously.

“Sunny and I switched,” the Lamborghini explained. “I'm gonna go crazy if I have to sit there for another minute watching my son be sick and not be able to do anything about it.”

Smokescreen nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I'd heard through the rumor mill he wasn't feeling so hot. Some of the guys were trying to get me to set up a betting pool about whether or not he'd make it.”

Something unpleasant churned in Sideswipe's tanks, and Smokescreen gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Don't worry; I told 'em off for you,” he said. “Told 'em good sires like you wouldn't let their comrades bet on their sons' lives.”

Good sires, unlike Smokescreen's own, Sideswipe suddenly remembered. He felt like he should say something about it now that he knew, but how did you bring that sort of thing up? ‘Hey, I heard your sire was an afthole. Sorry about that.’? Before he could get far in his wondering, Smokescreen nodded toward the front of the room, and the chatter of the mechs around them died down.

Sideswipe turned his attention forward to see Optimus Prime and Ironhide taking their places in front of Teletraan. Optimus, he couldn't help noticing, looked as if he hadn't recharged since Sideswipe had seen him in his office a few days ago.

“We apologize for calling all of you out so soon after our last altercation,” the Prime began. “It appears that Megatron does not intend to rest until he has exhausted all options for retrieving his second-in-command without making strategic concessions.”

“Why doesn't he just pay up the energon?” Smokescreen muttered. “I would if it was my boyfriend. Prime would if it was Elita.”

“Maybe it's not energon that Prime's asking him for,” Sideswipe returned, and his friend hummed thoughtfully.

“About thirty minutes ago,” Optimus continued, “Megatron sent us a communication insinuating that he was making plans to seize nuclear armaments from a strategic United States military base.”

A rush of tittering voices rose among the assembled troops.

“The timing and wording of the communication leaves us with the opinion that Megatron has made this threat to gain our attention for bargaining purposes and not because he genuinely intends to plunge this planet into nuclear winter—this time,” their commander spoke over them. “As this would not be strategically advantageous to either of our factions at this point in time. Thus, our objective is to make a show of strength—to show that Autobots cannot be threatened or yanked around like common drones—while simultaneously encouraging Megatron to remain open to a deal.”

There was a rousing chorus of agreement at the suggestion of showing off Autobot strength, which Sideswipe joined enthusiastically.

“You will receive further detailed orders along the way,” Optimus called over them. “So, without further ado, Autobots! Transform, and roll out!”

The cheers and whoops melded seamlessly into several dozen transformation sequences, and Sideswipe and Smokescreen started edging around the Aerialbots, who seemed to be waiting for the room to clear enough to perform their own transformations.

“I dunno!” Sideswipe heard Fireflight hiss to his gestaltmates. “He's not answering his comms!”

“Don't worry about it! We can fly on our own just fine,” Air Raid snapped back.

“We might need to counter ICBs in air! We'll need all the support we can get,” Skydive insisted.

“You guys missing Skyfire?” Sideswipe cut into their argument as he realized that he hadn't actually seen the shuttle anywhere at the briefing.

“He was on guard duty in the brig,” Silverbolt said, turning to the older mech with pleading optics. Behind him, his siblings all drew closer together. “But he should've been switched out for this mission.”

“I'm sure he's just running behind a bit,” Smokescreen shrugged. “It's Skyfire; he's not gonna leave you hanging.”

“But he's not answering his comms!” Silverbolt insisted. “He  _ always _ answers us!”

Sideswipe's optic ridges went up as he tried to imagine what Skyfire's inbox must look like with five temperamental or overly anxious seeker younglings constantly messaging him. His own inbox was starting to ping with the additional orders Optimus had promised, and he suddenly became very aware that they and—for some reason—Jazz were the only ones left in the room. The saboteur was tapping his own comms repeatedly and looking uncharacteristically irritated.

“Hey, chill, kiddo,” Smokescreen told Silverbolt with a jovial smile. “You guys stay here and I'll zoom on down to the brig real quick to see if I find him along the way.”

“Instead of that,” Jazz called over abruptly, and the stragglers flinched guiltily. “Y'all go on ahead an' I'll go find our missin' comrades. Skydive, y'all will be fine on your own for as long as it takes Skyfire ta catch up to ya.”

“He has very good hearing,” Sideswipe heard Slingshot mutter to one of his brothers.

“He said comrades plural, though,” Air Raid whispered back. “Who else is missing?”

“Don' worry 'bout it,” Jazz snapped, and all five Aerialbots snapped to attention. “Just git!”

The seekers fluttered their way toward the exit, almost tripping over each other in their haste, and Smokescreen followed after. Sideswipe hesitated just a moment, wondering if Jazz was going to say anything about him being there, but the saboteur was already flipping into vehicle mode to take off down the hall. Really, he was surprised that none of the officers had said anything to him—not even Prowl.

_ :What's got him all fussy?: _ he wondered over the comms at Smokescreen.

_ ::I dunno, but probably something to do with the fact that Prowl wasn't at the briefing.:: _ his friend replied.

_ :Ah,: _ Sideswipe realized.  _ :That explains a lot...: _

Well.

Lucky him.

 

* * *

 

It didn't take long for Sunstreaker to regret his generosity to his brother. Watching over an unconscious Sonic wasn't even as interesting as watching paint dry (at least that came with the satisfaction of having a nice new coat of paint at the end of it). As cute as his nephew was, Sunstreaker was glad the seekerling wasn't his.

“You gonna wake up anytime soon?” he asked after about half an hour, prodding the sparkling's cheek. Sonic exhaled heavily, and his uncle followed suit. “You're upsetting Sides, you know. I don't typically let people do that.”

The sparkling's mouth worked like he was trying to feed in his sleep, and Sunstreaker ran a servo over the back of his neck.

“Where'd Ratchet get to?” he wondered. The medic should have been back by now, unless there was something genuinely wrong with Starscream. Hopefully, that was it. Not only would it serve the jerk right, but also it would be harder for the seeker to do anything to Sonic if he wasn't feeling well.

Sunstreaker was just debating if it was worth it to try and comm Ratchet when the medbay doors opened. With a sigh of relief, the Lamborghini turned around and stopped with his mouth half open to ask a question when he saw not Ratchet but Prowl striding toward him.

“What are you doing here?” the intelligence officer demanded.

“Watching my nephew,” Sunstreaker matched his scowl. “What are  _ you _ doing here? I thought everyone was going on a mission.”

“It isn't your place to question one of your commanding officers, Sunstreaker,” Prowl snapped back. “And I meant why are  _ you _ watching the sparkling instead of your brother?”

“Sides was tired of being cooped up,” Sunstreaker shrugged. “I'm giving him a break.”

“Parenthood doesn't come with breaks,” the officer huffed, moving forward to peek over the edge of the incubator. “Not when your sparkling is  _ sick _ .”

“It's fine,” the Lamborghini insisted. “Ratchet says he thinks he knows how to fix him, anyway. You got any idea where he is? He was just gonna go check on Starscream, but that was, like, a whole half-hour ago.”

“Then I'm sure that's where he still is,” Prowl told him. “How do you find your nephew, Sunstreaker?”

It took the Lamborghini a moment to register the change of direction the conversation had just taken.

“Uh... In what regard?” he wanted to know.

“Some of your comrades have made comments on the likelihood of him turning to Decepticon ways as he grows. Do you think he seems capable of it?”

Sunstreaker snorted. “He's a month old, Prowl. He's not even capable of supporting his own helm yet.”

The intelligence officer nodded. “Do you like him then?”

That was a more complicated question. Sunstreaker glanced back at the seekerling and considered.

“I mean... I'm not really a fan of sparklings in general, but... Yeah, I guess this one's okay,” he confessed. “Besides, Sides adores him, so I gotta learn to live with him, right?”

Prowl grunted noncommittally. “I suppose it would be difficult for the two of you, then, if he does have to return to the Decepticons.”

“That won't happen,” Sunstreaker replied with confidence. “Ratchet and Optimus will figure out something else, whatever it takes. I mean, even if he needs to be with Skywarp, we could always just capture him too, couldn't we?”

“And what? Hold him in custody until Sonic is fully grown?” Prowl wanted to know, his chevron quirking to one side.

“Why not?” the Lamborghini shrugged again. “He belongs in jail anyway.”

“Indeed,” Prowl remarked, his gaze suddenly flicking over Sunstreaker's shoulder. “I came in here for a sprocket wrench, actually. I believe Ratchet keeps them in the cupboard over there. Hand me one, would you?”

Why Prowl couldn't grab his own pitted sprocket wrench was anyone's guess, but Sunstreaker decided it was easier to fetch it than try to argue with him right now. He turned to move toward the cupboard in question, rolling his optics, and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

It had been a while since Skywarp had to undergo repairs while conscious. Hook had turned off the pain receptors in most of his torso, but the seeker could still feel the medic's servos rooting around his insides, and it was more than a little nauseating.

"Wait, so what's Megatron doing again?" Thundercracker asked from his own medical berth a few feet away.

"I don't  _ know _ , T.C.! That’s the problem," his trinemate snapped back, wincing as something inside him moved far more sharply to the left than he was used to it doing. "He was going on about mythical birds and falcons and things, and then he just took off. That can't be good, right? Nothing about Megatron reciting poetry to  _ me _ of all bots can be good."

"Well... Soundwave certainly doesn't seem to think so," Hook put in.

"This is partly your fault," Skywarp reminded him. "If you hadn't told him about Starscream, he wouldn't be going crazy."

The medic gave him a wry look and withdrew from the seeker's partially-dismantled cockpit.

"This is the best I can do for now," he said. "Fair warning, it might hurt a bit."

"Of all the petty—"

"We're crunched for time," Hook interrupted his complaint. "A full repair would take hours and parts that I don't have yet. This is what I can give you for now."

Skywarp still gave him a dirty look as he snapped his cockpit shut before turning back to Thundercracker.

“Right,” he said, prancing over to the side of his trinemate’s berth. “Next time you see me, I’ll have the rest of our family with me, I promise.”

“Good luck.” The other seeker clasped his servo with an unbearably serious expression.

“I got this,” Skywarp told him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his trinemate’s cheek before engaging his warp drive. “OH,  _ SLAG! _ ” he yelped, servo flying to his middle as everything inside of himself started wrenching itself in knots.

“Told you it was gonna hurt,” he heard Hook mutter as the medbay shifted out of existence (much more slowly than usual) and was replaced by the war room.

As soon as reality had stabilized itself, Skywarp collapsed gasping and swearing onto the conference table, uncaring of the many curious and/or judgmental optics on him (it looked like most of the faction was in there). Warping hadn’t hurt like that since they’d first taken off his inhibitors when he was a youngling.

“You alright, uh… Commander?”

Skywarp looked sideways through watering optics to see Ramjet watching him from the next seat over.

“ _ Commander? _ ” the purple seeker choked.

“Skywarp; currently highest ranking member of Air Command,” Soundwave explained from the head of the conference table as he tapped a few sheets of holopaper together like a gasping, swearing seeker had not just appeared in the middle of his war briefing. “Current rank; acting Air Commander.”

Skywarp straightened up.

“I’m  _ what!? _ ” he demanded.

“Keep up,” was all the more explanation Soundwave offered before plunging back into his briefing.

Skywarp looked up and down the table at the normally rowdy group of mechs, now listening to their communications officer with a level of intensity he hadn’t thought this faction could still muster, and sank down into his chair to try and do as Soundwave had suggested.

 

* * *

“Are they gone?” Starscream whispered, trying to twist his wing out from behind Skyfire’s knee without knocking anything off one of the many shelves they were pressed up against.

“I think so,” his friend replied from his spot against the closet door. “Stop squirming; you’re liable to pull your wing  _ off _ before you get it  _ out _ .”

Starscream huffed and settled down. He felt better for the painkillers—less like he needed to purge if he stayed upright too long—but there was still a deep, aching throb in his side that was getting more and more insistent the longer he stayed in this awkward position. They’d dived into the closet when the sound of frantic pedes had come clattering from around a corner, Skyfire rejecting Starscream’s suggestion of claiming that they were on their way to the medbay (“They’d want to know why you weren’t restrained,” he’d reasoned far more reasonably than Starscream felt like listening to right now.), and found themselves trapped there for what had felt like a solid hour as an almost constant stream of traffic passed them, though Starscream’s chronometer said it had only been about 10 minutes.

“They’ve all been called off on a mission,” Skyfire explained as he cracked open the closet door again, blaster cautiously drawn. 

(Starscream had argued that he should be the one holding the blaster so that he could pretend he was coercing Skyfire at gunpoint, but the shuttlebot seemed concerned with the possibility of him shooting Autobots with it. 

“Well, what are you going to do with it?” the seeker had wanted to know, but his friend had just made a noise of impatience and held the weapon out of his reach.)

“Seems Megatron is making another move.”

“Good for him,” Starscream grumbled, pushing at the larger mech. “I’m sure Prime will smack him into the dirt, and he’ll be nice and depressed by the time I get home.”

He hoped that was what happened, at least. The way Megatron had been looking at him over that video call, Starscream didn’t trust him to make any plans that deserved to succeed right now.

Skyfire unfolded himself from the confined space and caught Starscream as the seeker toppled out after him.

“I’m still not sure what you saw in him,” the shuttlebot commented as he set his friend back on his thrusters. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type to go for anyone who thought he was more important than you.”

“He doesn’t,” Starscream scoffed, leaning on the larger mech as they started off down the corridor once more. “Megatron worships the ground I walk on and would surrender himself in a sparkbeat if Prime presented an option between that or my life. Lucky for him that Prime would never try to kill me without putting me on trial first.”

They were in the very deepest levels of the Ark right now. From what he knew of the ship’s design, Starscream was pretty sure there wasn’t much down here except a now-defunct weapons battery (couldn’t fire missiles that were buried in the side of a volcano). He wondered if there were any left lying around that Skyfire might let him set to detonate after they’d left.

“I just don’t understand,” Skyfire grumbled. “How can anyone bomb cities, destroy planets, murder  _ millions _ to create an empire for himself, but still care enough about  _ one mech _ to let it all crumble if he had to? I’m not saying I don’t believe you that he cares about you,” he added hastily, “just that there are parts of it I have a hard time wrapping my processor around.”

“Skyfire, there are parts of Megatron that  _ I _ have a hard time wrapping my processor around, and I’ve been closer to him than anyone except maybe Soundwave for the last five million years,” Starscream snorted. “He thinks humans as a whole are utter garbage, but he still reads their poetry when he doesn’t think anyone else is looking.”

“He reads poetry?” Skyfire’s face screwed up in the effort of reconciling that image.

“Oh, Skyfire.” Starscream gave him a little pat. “The Autobots have so deeply neutered your history lessons.”

The shuttlebot made another face at him and heaved a sigh. “I guess if you like him so much, then he can’t be completely irredeemable.”

“Oh, he is,” Starscream disagreed. “By Autobot standards, he certainly is. Even if Prime manages to make him surrender, he’ll go to his grave defending his methods, and that’s half of what I love about him so much.”

“He  _ murdered _ people, Star!” his friend protested, pulling to a sudden halt.

“So have I, Skyfire. What’s your point?” Starscream snapped, the pain in his side suddenly sharpening. “Everyone blames Megatron for our planet’s destruction, but he was just the mech who lit the match. Was it his fault that the entire system was built of wood and drenched in oil?”

“Maybe don’t set fire to it in the first place, then?” Skyfire suggested.

“How would  _ you _ have overthrown the Senate, then? How would  _ you _ have pushed the Primes out of power?” Starscream wanted to know.

“Optimus would have—”

“Optimus Prime never would have existed if Alpha Trion hadn’t wanted someone else to deal with Megatron for him!” the seeker hissed. “He was Orion Pax—a fragging dock worker, Skyfire. Under the old regime, he never would have been  _ anything _ . None of us were! The second I lost you, Skyfire, they stripped all of my licenses and shipped me off to the flight academy! Half a million years of achievements and honors meant nothing in the face of the Senate’s desire for a stronger airforce to put down the rebellions! 

“If we’re murderers, Skyfire, it’s because the Autobots wanted us to be! And Megatron was the first mech ever who was willing to get his servos dirty just to give me a choice, so yes! I fell in love with him—we all did!”

“I didn’t…” Skyfire started, looking like the smaller mech had just slapped him across the face. “There’s no need to shout at me. I’m just trying to understand. I missed a lot.”

“Not your fault,” the seeker muttered, turning away so his friend wouldn’t see the flush creeping into his face as he tried to push away the familiar rush of “what ifs” trying to plague him in regard to the shuttle.

“Come on; Sonic should be in the medbay right now,” Skyfire muttered, stroking his back in a conciliatory gesture.

“ _ Sonic? _ ” Starscream sneered over his shoulder.

“I thought it was a decent name,” the other mech shrugged. “Considering a grounder came up with it.”

“Skywarp’s son is  _ not _ going to be named  _ Sonic! _ ”

“Then let’s go get him before he gets used to it.”

Starscream huffed and waited for Skyfire to take the lead again. They traipsed through several more corridors in silence before Skyfire suddenly pulled his friend to the side again, pressing close to the garish walls as he looked up and down them for any kind of retreat.

“What?” Starscream demanded. “Who is it this time?”

“It’s fragging  _ Prowl! _ ” Skyfire hissed back.

“Shoot him,” the seeker replied without hesitation. He could hear the intelligence officer’s approaching footsteps now, echoing in the space beyond the next turn.

The shuttlebot gave him a horrified look, and Starscream rolled his optics.

“So thump  _ him _ over the helm if shooting people offends you so much!” he suggested.

“I can’t!” Skyfire insisted. “Megatron kicked him in the helm a few days ago; I might seriously injure him if I hit him right now!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Starscream rolled his optics and snatched the blaster straight out of his friend’s servo.

“Starscream, don’t!” Skyfire gasped, reaching for him, but the seeker had already darted into the next room, out of reach.

“Freeze, Autoboob!” Starscream shrieked, opening fire randomly. He’d learned over the years that the best way to take on Prowl was to be as unpredictable as possible, which was why he so often threw Skywarp at the strategist with no orders other than, “Get him out of the way.”

This time, he watched with delight as Prowl let out a string of profanity and dove to the ground, curling into a tight ball to protect something he was carrying as he rolled behind a control podium. 

From the looks of it, this space used to be one of those batteries that Starscream had been so eager to stumble upon. One wall was lined entirely with unfired missiles, the tubes that used to hold them apparently now leading off into the Earth.

“Wha… You guys had secret, unguarded back entrances this whole time!?” the seeker demanded, firing a couple more random shots. “Get out here and face me, you loser!”

“Who said they’re not guarded!?” Prowl snapped back from the other side of the podium. “And hold your fire, you maniac! I’ve got the sparkling!”

Starscream stopped shooting, half because of Prowl’s words and half because Skyfire had just come up from behind and grabbed the gun, along with most of the seeker’s arm.

“What do you mean, you’ve got the sparkling!?” Starscream shouted across the room.

“He’s disarmed, Prowl! You can come out,” Skyfire added more helpfully.

And the intelligence officer did come out, glowering like a Pit hound and cradling what Starscream now saw as a bundle of insulation sheets against his chassis.

“ _ Nubby! _ ” the seeker exclaimed, leaving the blaster in Skyfire’s grasp to lurch painfully across the floor.

He was rearing for a fight when he reached the Autobot officer, but Prowl just held the sparkling out to him without comment. Starscream snatched the bundle away and then flared his wings up protectively as he turned away from the other mech to examine the seekerling.

They’d all been right to worry, he saw. Nubby was far too warm, his meshy cheeks flushed and waxy-looking. He was frighteningly limp, too, barely reacting to the transfer of caretakers or the return to familiar arms.

“Nubby?” Starscream called, his spark constricting painfully. He pressed a digit against the sparkling’s and, for the first time, they didn’t curl around him in response. “Oh, sweetspark, what did they do to you!?” he despaired, pulling the sparkling close.

“He needs Skywarp,” Prowl spoke up. “Ratchet thought your spark might be similar enough to keep him going until we could reach a diplomatic solution, but I don’t think he has that long.”

“So, what?” Starscream wanted to know, turning a suspicious glare on him. “You’re kidnapping him from his kidnappers?”

“More or less,” the intelligence officer shrugged, his optics flicking to Skyfire hovering over the seeker’s shoulder. “Though I see I’m not the only one who decided to commit treason tonight.”

“Why?” Starscream demanded, trying to ignore the increasing spinning in his helm as he rubbed comfort into Nubby’s fragile little back struts. “How do we know this isn’t a trick? Maybe you’re here to make us lower our guards before your buddies sink sleeper rounds in the both of us.”

Prowl gave a derisive snort and looked the Decepticon up and down. “I wouldn’t need a trick to take you out right now, Starscream.”

“Maybe Prowl is just capable of recognizing when a situation has gone too far,” Skyfire suggested, laying a servo on his friend’s shoulder. “Although, frankly, I’m disappointed it took this long for anyone to act on it.”

“I don’t trust him,” Starscream insisted. “I’m gonna need to hear a really compelling reason to believe you’d stake your entire lifestyle on saving a Decepticon’s newspark, or else my associate here is gonna have to drop you.”

“I’m not your goon, Starscream,” Skyfire protested.

“It’s fine, Skyfire,” the intelligence officer sighed. “If you knock me out, it’ll look less like I was committing treason, and I can vouch for you if you want to say that Starscream was using Decepticon voodoo to manipulate you, or something.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you!” the shuttle insisted.

“Didn’t stop you knocking Ratchet’s lights out,” Starscream muttered.

“You did what?” Prowl demanded.

“Enough arguing,” Starscream interrupted when Skyfire started opening his mouth to explain. “If you want to prove your innocence, then show us how to get out of here without being seen. These tunnels lead out, yes?”

“I’m not showing you a secret passage into our base!” Prowl scoffed.

“If you really care about saving Nubby and aren’t just trying to distract us, you will,” Starscream contradicted.

The Autobot made a face, and then his optics flicked to the sparkling Starscream had cradled against his shoulder.

“Fine,” he finally snapped.

Starscream caught himself just in time before letting the surprise show on his face, narrowing his optics in suspicion instead.

“ _ Why? _ ” he repeated.

Prowl stared at him long and hard before giving an angry huff and opening his mouth to answer. Starscream was distracted enough wondering what lies the intelligence officer was going to concoct that he  _ almost _ didn’t notice the sound of an engine, growing steadily louder as it echoed in from the far side of the room.

“I knew it!” the seeker shrieked, hastily snapping open his cockpit so he could secure Nubby inside of it. “Treacherous sneak!”

“Starscream, I’m sure it’s not—” Skyfire started trying to reason, but the smaller mech shoved him off.

“Shut up and get out of here!” Prowl snapped. “This wasn’t my plan; I’ll distract whoever it is! Just  _ get the sparkling out of here! _ ”

He was reaching for his blaster, but Starscream wasn’t about to let that happen. As soon as he’d secured the last buckle around Nubby, he swung a pede up to knock the weapon out of the Autobot’s servo.

“Starscream!” Skyfire despaired, reaching for him just as a black and white Porsche came spinning around the corner.

“Jazz,  _ no! _ ” Prowl shouted, scrambling for his lost weapon. 

Starscream dodged Skyfire’s attempts to capture him and dove past the intelligence officer to get there first. He flipped over as soon as his digits closed on the grip, ignoring the worrying stabs of agony in his side, and fired indiscriminately. There was a satisfactory cry of pain from Prowl, followed by one of rage from Jazz, and then searing, blinding pain along his side as the saboteur opened fire on him.

“Stop! Stop—the sparkling!” Starscream heard Skyfire shouting, and the barrage ceased as a pair of massive servos scooped him up off the floor.

“JAZZ, THE MISSILES, YOU DOLT!!” Prowl was fair screaming next, and Starscream regained his senses just in time to see a bolt of blue energy sailing straight for the pile of warheads.


	22. In the Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been hoping to get this chapter out a week ago, but then I went and got food poisoning or stomach flu or something last weekend, so... All's well that ends well, and here it is.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been an entire day’s drive from Oregon to North Dakota, but because of the imminent threat to their own well-being, the human military had been gracious enough to supply air lifts. Sideswipe had never felt comfortable riding in any aircraft piloted by humans, and was regretting that he hadn’t waited for Jazz to come back with Skyfire long before they touched down at Minot Air Force Base where Megatron was apparently holed up.

“He came out of nowhere!” the Lamborghini heard one of the humans telling Optimus as they piled out of their transports. “Knocked out all our defenses before we even had a chance to react!”

“Any casualties?” the Prime wanted to know.

“Six,” the human replied. “Five injured, one dead—tried to get close and the bastard shot him.”

Sideswipe’s tanks churned at the thought. He’d seen what happened when Megatron used his fusion cannon on organics. At least the poor guy probably hadn’t felt anything.

“Has he made any demands?” was Optimus’s next question.

“Just that we bring you here to talk to him,” the human answered. “He’s got half our stockpile, and the rest will go up if he detonates them. It would be the end of Earth as we know it!”

“Yes, yes, he’s quite good at histrionics,” Optimus muttered. “Show me to him.”

Whatever the situation sounded like, Sideswipe had to confess that Megatron most definitely did not  _ look _ like a sparkling throwing a tantrum when they finally caught up to him. The Decepticon warlord had arranged some 50 nuclear warheads into something resembling a throne and was lounging atop the potential destruction of the human race with an expression like a haughty god looking down at his unruly creations.

“So, you’ve come, Prime,” he growled when Optimus flipped into root mode at the base of his pile of spoils.

“I’ve come to call your bluff, Megatron,” the other mech answered. “However rich in resources this planet may be, they’re useless to you without the labor force to secure them. You would not profit from the humans’ destruction.”

Megatron shrugged, and Sideswipe found himself wondering just what they’d been thinking when they built a miner with shoulders like that. How did he fit in the tunnels!?

“I’ve been doing some reflecting of late, Prime,” the Decepticon continued. “A rearranging of priorities, you could say, and this squabble of ours has dropped quite a few places on my list.”

“Yet you’d still destroy an entire civilization over it?” Optimus challenged.

“This civilization will be gone before I’m due for my next rust checkup,” Megatron snorted. “Hardly much potential to snuff out there. Now, the sparkling whose life you've put at risk for your own vanity, he's another matter altogether, as is my Air Commander.”

“Starscream is a war criminal,” Optimus returned. “I am not sure how much value there is in a potential for destruction.”

Megatron’s face darkened.

“Starscream is a brilliant scientist who charted dozens of solar systems and planets before your predecessors decided they wanted him for a weapon instead,” he growled. “And typical of you to focus on him instead of the sparkling you know full well you had no right to take!”

A chorus of disagreement and objections rang up from the assembled Autobots, almost drowning the end of the warlord’s sentence. Optimus waved them into silence.

“His sire is here now. Why don't you tell that to him?” the Prime said, a hint of smugness in his voice, and Sideswipe froze as every optic turned to him.

“I…” he stammered, trying to look anywhere but the manic Decepticon glaring down at him from a pile of ICBs. That piercing gaze was almost magnetic, though, and he found himself meeting it with his spark in his throat.

“You had no right,” Megatron repeated, spearing him to the ground with a disapproval far more weighty than even Prowl’s. “You had almost nine months to step forward and claim partnership in your son's creation if you'd wanted, but instead, you hid in shame from something that others of our race would give anything to have!”

Sideswipe felt his cheeks burn as he forced himself to hold his helm up while the words hit him. He hadn't known until he'd gotten him that he'd want his son so badly, and he was willing to bet Skywarp had been no different. Anyway, why should he care what Megatron of all mechs thought of him?

“Enough bickerin’,” Ironhide spoke up, waving Megatron’s attention to himself. “What exactly do ya think yer gonna accomplish here, Megatron? Ya can’t blow yer payload without takin’ yerself down, too.”

“I am aware,” the warlord nodded. “Just as I know that your Prime will stay here trying to convince me otherwise until the very end.”

“And what purpose would our mutual destruction serve?” Optimus wanted to know. “Do you truly resent me that much? Surely, you know that our followers would only continue the war in our absence.”

“Your followers are generally far more reasonable than you yourself, Prime,” Megatron huffed. “If Prowl were leading the Autobots, we would have negotiated peace eons ago. Things become much simpler when the mech in charge doesn’t claim to be a conduit of God.”

“And  _ your _ followers?” Optimus challenged, making no effort to defend himself over the shouts of said followers doing it for him.

“Soundwave will be in charge of the Decepticons if I die here, seeing as my second-in-command would still be in your custody,” Megatron shrugged. “I have full faith in his abilities.”

If Sideswipe hadn’t known better, he would have said that Optimus actually looked somewhat frightened at the prospect of a Decepticon force led by their communications officer. At any rate, the Prime was silent for so long that the rest of the Autobots started shuffling around awkwardly behind him.

“Prahm,” Ironhide muttered, stepping closer to his leader. “He’s bluffin’.”

Optimus looked down at his advisor and then back up at Megatron.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think he is.”

“So, we’re givin’ in!?” Ironhide demanded in bewilderment.

Sideswipe’s spark dropped from his throat to his pedes. His son…  _ They were giving his son back! _

“I want both Starscream and the sparkling here within the hour!” Megatron called down to them.

“Megatron,” Optimus said in his ‘stop being ridiculous’ voice. “It would take even a fully-repaired Starscream  _ at least  _ an hour to get here. The soonest physically possible that we could get them here is  _ maybe _ two hours. That would be assuming my own second-in-command is fully functional and able to transport them here instead of my having to send someone else to pick them up.”

“Yes, I had noticed his absence, though I confess: I hadn’t thought I’d hit him  _ that _ hard,” Megatron smirked, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “One hour,” he finally declared. “I want to  _ hear Starscream’s voice _ in no more than one hour.”

“Very well,” Optimus agreed, but Sideswipe had other thoughts on the matter.

“Optimus, you can’t just—” the Lamborghini protested, pushing his way forward.

The Prime turned around to face him, catching the indignant mech by the shoulders.

“One thing at a time, Sideswipe,” he said in a low voice. “Right now, we need to focus on securing the future of this planet. We will figure out how to reunite you with your son, I promise.”

“ _ How? _ ” Sideswipe demanded. “Are you going to  _ kill _ Skywarp this time?”

“ _ We will figure it out! _ ” Optimus hissed at him, giving the smaller mech a shake. “Your son’s existence at least is proof that our species  _ does _ have a future. Failure to act now may destroy even that for the humans!”

Sideswipe hung his helm, unsure what else to say, and eventually Optimus released him.

“Prime?” Ironhide came over and spoke in a low murmur. “Ain’t nobody pickin’ up back home.”

Optimus gave a growl of frustration and reached up to activate his own comm.

“Prowl?” he snapped. “Prowl, you’re on thin ice as it is, old friend!”

Awkward silence stretched, and Optimus’s optics narrowed in confusion.

“Jazz?” he tried next.

Only static. A sense of unease started creeping into Sideswipe’s fuel lines.

“ _ Ratchet! _ ”

“What if this were a distraction?” Ironhide ventured, warily eying the warlord over his shoulder when the medic also turned up no reply. “Megs actin’ alone ta get the lot o’ us outta the base so’s they could make a full frontal?”

“No,” Optimus declared, waving it aside. 

“What makes ya so sure?” his adviser wanted to know.

“Because I have a long list of urgent comms from Soundwave asking if I have any idea where Megatron is right now,” the Prime explained.

“Besides,” Sideswipe spoke up with a whole new twinge of nerves. “Sunny would let me know if anything was going on back at the base, even if comms were being blocked.”

Granted, his brother was apparently asleep right now, but Sideswipe couldn’t imagine anyone would have left him that way for long if they were under attack.

“Don’t deliberate too long over there, Prime!” Megatron called down to them, and Optimus threw an exasperated glance over his shoulder.

“Sideswipe,” he spoke loud enough for his rival to hear as well. “Return to base with all due haste and retrieve the hostages.”

“Time is ticking,” the warlord reminded him.

“I can’t possibly—” Sideswipe started, but Optimus started pushing him back toward the rest of their faction and the waiting humans.

“You can get back to the base in time. All he asked was to hear Starscream’s voice within an hour,” the Prime reminded him. “Get back there and get Starscream on the comms as fast as you can, and then get the both of them over here. We’ll do our best to stall him.”

“How?” the Lamborghini wanted to know.

Optimus straightened up and squared his shoulders.

“I’m going to answer Soundwave’s calls,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Something had gone wrong; horribly, frighteningly wrong. Skywarp had felt Starscream’s emotions go off like a bomb blast inside his chest some thirty minutes ago, and then— _ silence _ . Whatever had happened had dropped his trine leader offline, and he couldn’t even consult with Thundercracker because apparently he’d gone and fallen asleep, too.

But Skywarp didn’t even have the luxury of worrying over all that right now because a much larger scale catastrophe had arisen.

“Megatron is  _ where? _ ” the seeker verified, jogging to keep up with the Soundwave’s longer strides.

“Location specifics; not a concern,” the communications officer replied. “All troops, follow Soundwave.”

Their strategy meeting had ended abruptly when Soundwave had gotten Optimus Prime’s call. There wasn’t much point coming up with ways to find Megatron when the leader of the enemy faction had live streamed his location already. Apparently, it had now become “Operation: Drag Megatron Home by His Aft if Necessary.”

Skywarp didn’t think he’d ever seen Soundwave look so ready to put someone’s helm through a wall, not even after the time he and Starscream had failed a scouting mission and accidentally led the entire Autobot army straight back to their own base. He just hoped Soundwave didn’t forget to give him those Ark blueprints before he set off.

“Those slaggers got another thing coming if they think we’re gonna let them get away with trying to outmech Megatron of all ‘bots!” Thrust growled, and several of the other Decepticons trailing along in the group let out a chorus of raucous agreement. 

Skywarp wasn’t so sure that was the problem here, though. He knew he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but he at least knew that Megatron sitting calmly on top of a pile of nukes probably wasn’t a Megatron who needed rescuing from Autobots, however many there seemed to be around. Especially with how their commander had been talking before he disappeared.

“Should I warp ahead?” he asked, looking up to Soundwave.

The communications officer glanced down at him and slowed ever so slightly in his feverish march toward the exit tower.

“No,” he finally decided. “Skywarp’s top priority; secure Commander Starscream and bring him to Lord Megatron’s location.”

“And Nubby?” Skywarp checked.

Soundwave stopped walking altogether and turned to take the seeker by the shoulders, pulling him aside and motioning for the rest of the troops to continue around them.

“Sparkling’s safety; paramount,” he intoned. “However. Sparkling’s safety; largely dependent on Lord Megatron’s survival. Lord Megatron’s survival; currently dependent on Commander Starscream’s presence. Skywarp; arrange priorities accordingly.”

Skywarp was still trying to unravel this when a file pinged into his drop box.

“Fate of Decepticons; possibly in your servos,” Soundwave told him, straightening up.

“Please tell me you’re exaggerating,” Skywarp breathed as he started to open the file to look through floor upon floor and pointless corridor upon pointless, orange corridor of Autobot ship.

“Be cautious, Skywarp,” the communications officer told him. He seemed to consider for a second before raising a digit to his control panel. “Ravage; eject.”

The feline cassette sprang out of his creator’s chest and landed lightly a few yards down the hall.

“Mission; accompany Skywarp,” Soundwave ordered.

Ravage gave a purr of acknowledgment and came over to weave himself between the seeker’s pedes.

“Um…” Skywarp blinked down at the cat rubbing against his leg.

“Skywarp’s scent; more pleasant since becoming a creator,” Soundwave offered by way of explanation, and then he took off after the rest of the group.

The seeker swallowed hard and finally opened the map Soundwave had sent him.

“I don’t suppose you know where they’re most likely to be keeping Nubby?” he asked Ravage.

The cassetticon looked up at him and yawned widely.

“Okay, well, one of these days, you should at least tell me what you mean about my scent changing; that’s just weird and, like, slightly stalkerish,” Skywarp told him.

Ravage cleaned a bit of imaginary dust off one of his front pedes.

“Skywarp?”

Speaking of stalkers...

“OH my  _ GOD _ , Ramjet!” the seeker raged, whirling around to face the conehead lingering awkwardly in the hallway behind them. “What will it take for you to get a fragging  _ clue _ already!?”

Ramjet scuffed a pede against the floor, a chagrined expression on his face as he turned it downward.

“Just wanna help…” he mumbled.

“No!” Skywarp snapped, jabbing a digit at him while Ravage slunk behind his legs and hissed. “You’re not gonna try and worm your way into my life by committing some grand act of last minute—”

“Your ankles and wrists,” Ramjet interrupted. “They’re still not healed all the way.”

Skywarp shoved his servos behind his back and scowled at the other mech.

“You can’t hide it; I’ve been watching you too closely.”

“Gross. Why are you so weird?” Skywarp demanded. “I don't have time for this. I gotta—”

“Take me with you,” Ramjet blurted.

“...What?”

“If you need to fight anyone, you might need another mech there with you,” the conehead pointed out.

“That’s what I have Ravage for.”

“I’m sure Ravage would agree that a second full-sized mech could be useful.”

Skywarp looked down at the feline, who rolled his shoulders in something like a shrug.

“Just let me help you this one time, and I swear I'll leave you alone from then on,” Ramjet promised.

Skywarp chewed his upper lip in consideration. He didn't want Ramjet to come along, but the mech made a good point. Autobots were easy enough to deal with, damaged wrists or no (that’s what blasters were for), but his trine leader had looked like he was on his last leg when they'd video chatted earlier and Primus knew what damage he’d incurred to cause that alarming flare of emotions. If he ended up needing to carry Starscream for any distance, he was going to need someone with thrusters that could bear the extra weight without cracking.

“Fine,” Skywarp finally conceded.

Ramjet's face split into a stupid grin.

“You try anything at any point in time and I will leave you behind for the Autobots, don’t think I won’t!” the seeker informed him, waving a digit under his nose. “And that goes for after we get back, too! I have the Ark blueprints now, and I’m not afraid to use them!”

The conehead nodded emphatically, servos held up in defeat.

“Right.” Skywarp studied him for any signs of cheekiness or deception, but found none. “Here, then.”

He stuck out his right hand, and the other mech came forward to take it. Before he could ask Ravage how he wanted to ride along, the feline was already scaling up his leg to take a perch on his shoulders.

“Just don’t dig your claws in,” the seeker requested, having experienced that plenty at his trine leader’s servos.

It didn’t take long to find the Autobots’ brig on the map, and only a few astroseconds more to parse out the proper telemetry needed for the jump. He sent one last comm to Thundercracker—something quick and sentimental—since they wouldn’t be getting any messages in or out as soon as they were behind enemy lines, and then braced himself for the pain that was about to come.

_ For Nubby _ , he reminded himself.  _ For Nubby and Starscream and Megatron and everyone else you care about. _

“Hang on; this might be a bit rough,” Skywarp warned the other two.

And jumped.

 

* * *

 

There was screaming when Starscream came to, and it wasn't his own for once.

“...coming out! You gotta hold still!” he heard Skyfire shouting at someone.

“I'll… I'll do it myself!” the screamer choked, his voice breathless and thick with pain but somehow still stern—Prowl.

Starscream groaned and rolled his helm to the side only to discover just how much pain he was in. Fire shot up the seeker’s left leg, followed by multiple stabs and more dull fire in his abdomen.

“FRAG!” he shrieked, twitching in on himself. It felt like his cockpit was shattered, and—

_ Nubby! _

Starscream forced the pain aside and shoved himself into a sitting position. His cockpit was only slightly shattered, and Nubby was very much not inside of it.

Wherever they were, it was pitch black but for the glow of his own optics and a faint sheen of spilled energon coming mostly from behind him. Starscream whipped around to see Skyfire and Prowl's dim outlines a few yards away. The Autobots’ intelligence officer was the source of most of the energon, but Starscream didn't have time to celebrate that.

“Where… Nubby? Where's he…” the seeker gasped. He tried to move toward them and found his right leg unresponsive. Except pain. It had quite a lot of that to contribute.

“Starscream, don't move!” Skyfire despaired, optics flicking frantically between Starscream and the large piece of metal he was trying to pull out of Prowl's chassis. “Nubby’s right here.”

The shuttlebot patted his own cockpit, and Starscream breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

“What happened?” he asked, slumping back down to the uneven, rocky ground. He hazily recalled watching an energon blast soaring toward a pile of warheads, but wasn’t sure how they were all still in mostly one piece if they’d been so close to the destructive force of some 15 ballistic missiles.

“We got lucky,” was Skyfire’s reply.

“That’s subjective,” Prowl grumbled, and Starscream turned to examine him more closely. 

The shrapnel lodged in the Autobot’s chassis had narrowly missed his spark chamber, but looked and sounded like it was putting significant strain on his vents anyway. There were also sections of burnt plastic, twisted metal, and more minor shrapnel injuries all down his left side. It was more damage than Starscream had ever managed to intentionally inflict on him, at any rate.

In the back of his processor, the question  _ why _ still lurked, but he would be damned if he was the one who bothered probing the intelligence officer’s motivations.

“Half the missiles had already been disarmed,” Skyfire continued to explain. “There were only a few live ones left, and they were mostly at the bottom of the pile. So, the explosion mostly went down.”

A couple of things started to click in Starscream’s processor.

“We’re under the Ark,” he guessed.

“Down a… dead lava tube,” Prowl confirmed. He grimaced, and made a furtive movement as if thinking to make good on his plan of yanking the shrapnel out himself.

“Don’t! You’ll make it worse!” Skyfire chastened him.

Starscream huffed and rolled onto his back to take stock of his own injuries while the other two argued. 

His right leg was almost completely destroyed; it looked more like he’d fallen on it than having been caught in the blast. Sparking wires and other bits of internal hardware stuck out between segments of plating that had crumpled and twisted out of place. The main fuel line had severed, and he’d guess from his current fuel levels that it had hemorrhaged a couple dozen liters before Skyfire had apparently managed to clamp it. His thruster was gone altogether—snapped off. 

That and the spiderweb cracks radiating from a small hole in his cockpit seemed to be the worst of his external injuries, though. He’d guess that Skyfire had been between himself and the blast, and the shuttlebot’s heavier armor had absorbed most of the impact. Internal damage on the other hand…

Well, none of it was new, per se, but the slow leak that had reopened in his fuel tank was concerning. Between that and what he’d lost when he’d broken his leg, his HUD told him he had a little over an hour before his frame dropped him into emergency stasis, and a few more after that before his spark started spasming in protest of the fuel shortage.

“How far down are we?” he asked no one in particular.

“It’s hard to say,” Skyfire answered. “At least a mile. Our comms aren’t picking up signal, at any rate.”

“Any hope of climbing out?”

“Ceiling closed in above us,” Prowl supplied. “You good at digging?”

Starscream swallowed, willing himself not to purge as a familiar sense of anxiety started creeping over him. Several years of living in a rusty bucket under the sea had served a marvelous exposure therapy for his claustrophobia, but this was the sort of situation he felt he was fully justified to panic about.

“Nubby?” he questioned, raising his helm slightly.

“I told you, he's fine. Miraculously,” Skyfire reiterated. “But I guess that's what seekers’ cockpits are for in the first place, so I shouldn't be surprised.”

“I want to hold him,” Starscream explained, not caring what Prowl might think of this admission of vulnerability.

“Oh.” Skyfire blinked. “Are you sure you can right now?”

“Just put him on my chest,” Starscream requested. “He needs exposure to my spark signature anyway, right?”

His friend hesitated another moment before shuffling over to him and popping open his cockpit. Inside, Nubby was reclined on one of the pilot's seats, fast asleep. This time, he did stir a bit when Skyfire gently began working him out of the safety straps, and when the shuttle bot laid him on Starscream's cracked cockpit, his optics fluttered open.

“Hey, little guy,” Starscream cooed, stroking the back of his helm.

Nubby made a pleased chirping noise and went back to sleep. 

Starscream took a deep breath and let his own optics shutter, trying to focus on the warmth and sparkbeat of the seekerling on top of him instead of the rocky walls closing in around him. Somewhere far away, he could feel Skywarp reaching out for him, searching, and for once, he did everything he could to latch on and  _ pull _ .

 

* * *

 

Skywarp’s knees buckled the second they hit solid ground again, and Ramjet managed to catch him before he collapsed entirely. Ravage hopped off with an indignant noise. Somehow, the seeker managed not to cry out, but it took a moment until his processor cleared enough to register that Ramjet was speaking.

“...empty! Not even any guards!”

With some effort, Skywarp focused streaming optics on the space around them. It was definitely a brig, but Ramjet was right. Empty cell after cold, empty cell lined the long hallway, and there wasn’t even an Autobot guard to greet them.

Ravage was already taking off toward the exit, and Ramjet was trying to pull Skywarp back to his pedes to follow.

“Security cameras,” the conehead reminded him. “We gotta keep moving.”

“But where’s Starscream?” Skywarp demanded of the empty brig, his spark sinking. 

He could feel his trine leader again. Starscream was actively calling out for him—pulling,  _ begging _ for help—and he only wished that he could contact Thundercracker to ask his opinion on the matter. Had the Autobots taken Starscream to their interrogation rooms? But Starscream had been tortured for information before, and he had clamped his bond down as tightly as he could that time. The only time he ever intentionally sought comfort from his trinemates was if…

“Medbay!” Skywarp realized. “I’ll bet you anything he did something to make his injuries worse again, and they took him to the medbay!”

Ravage turned back to consider him, and then rotated his ears around forward in what Skywarp could only assume was agreement. It reminded him of a positive wing gesture, at any rate.

“You got another warp in you to get us there?” Ramjet wanted to know.

“I… don’t think so. Not yet. Ravage, do you think we can get there without being found?”

The cassette flicked his tail and started toward the door again as if to say, “Who the frag do you think I am?”

Skywarp forced himself to his pedes and followed.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker jolted awake with a snort and hastily sat up, cursing himself for dropping off at such a critical time. Several messages from Skywarp awaited him, and he read through them with mounting anxiety. Starscream had what? Megatron was _where?_ _Why did everything always fall apart when he wasn’t around??_

The seeker’s tanks churned abruptly, and his optics widened as his body suddenly ordered him to purge. Fortunately, someone had left him a bucket for that purpose.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he heard Hook’s dry voice comment from somewhere over the rim of the pail. “I’ve got news for you.”

Thundercracker surfaced blearily to see the medic approaching his berth with a datapad in servo and an irritated expression that made him consider purging again—on the floor this time—because if Hook was going to judge him for being sick in a medbay…

“You’re sparked.”

The datapad hit the berth beside him with a damning smack. Thundercracker glanced at it without actually seeing any of what was displayed on it before turning back to the medic.

“ _ Excuse me? _ ” he demanded.

“You passed out because your spark was already under strain from your trine mates, and the newspark splitting off was too much for it,” Hook continued. “It’s so recent that I had to wait for the scanner to fully process the deep scan results before we could see it.”

Thundercracker reset his audials, and then his optics.

“Don’t worry; I did a few more frame scans while you were asleep, and everything seems to be in order, despite the bumpy start. Your gestation chamber is already gathering…”

Hook’s voice blurred into white noise as Thundercracker finally picked up the datapad. It showed a spark scan video with his own familiar specs listed alongside it. His own spark, humming along at its usual white-blue frequency—a few fractions of a Hertz lower than Starscream’s and nowhere near Skywarp’s ultra-violet—when a second, far smaller orb came circling around it from the back like a moon creeping out of its planet’s orbit to greet the sun.

It was, like most newsparks, still in the low-yield infrared range, and Thundercracker watched as it cycled slowly back around the image of his own spark to disappear once more.

He cycled a deep vent.

And then another.

“Don’t go panicking on me now,” Hook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t be dealing with a panicking carrier when Megatron’s apparently going suicidal on us!”

Suicidal…

Right! According to Skywarp, the Autobots had claimed Megatron was threatening to blow himself up and take the better portion of humanity down with him. It was hard to believe that their commander could be that stupid, but, then again, he  _ had _ fallen in love with Starscream, and Thundercracker was well-acquainted with the stupid insanity that loving Starscream could inflict upon a mech. He doubted that he himself would ever reach global-scale murder/suicide levels of desperation if he thought that he’d hurt Starscream that badly, but then, he’d never had the same flair for drama that Megatron did.

Someone had to do something about it, and things like this did tend to end up falling on Thundercracker’s shoulders. But there was no way anyone was going to let him into such a potentially volatile situation if he really was carrying. Megatron had barely let Skywarp out of the base until after Nubby was born (a restriction that apparently should have been extended).

And then a thought occurred to Thundercracker.

“Does anyone else know about this yet?” he asked, waving the datapad at Hook.

“Of course not,” the medic snorted. “I presumed that unlike Skywarp, you probably know exactly who the sire is. I’ll keep this between the two of us as long as you like if you let me watch when you break the news to him.”

Thundercracker rolled his optics and kicked back his insulation sheets, subspacing the datapad as he jumped out of the berth.

“Where do you think you’re going!?” Hook demanded, starting after the seeker a bit too late.

“Hopefully, to stop Megatron from doing something stupid,” Thundercracker muttered under his breath, slipping through the medbay doors before Hook could stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave and Thundercracker both up in here like, "Why do I gotta fix everything in this house??"


	23. Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me? :D

Ironhide insisted on accompanying Sideswipe back to the Ark. Normally, the Lamborghini would have sulked at the implication that he needed a babysitter, but this time he was relieved to have the older, more experienced mech's guidance.

They spent the majority of the trip trying to get ahold of someone—anyone—still on the ship. There weren't many options, and none of them were proving fruitful. Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl, Skyfire... even Red Alert's comm link was turning up nothing but static.

“Maybe... there's a malfunction in the system?” Sideswipe suggested in a low voice at one point.

“Malfunctions that big don' jus' happen, kid,” Ironhide grunted. “Not to Teletraan.”

Despite their worst fears, there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle of any sort at the front door.

“Keep yer guards up anyway,” Ironhide suggested to their human escort as he and Sideswipe readied their weapons and stepped through the door.

It was eerily silent inside the ship, and there was a faint burnt smell hanging in the air, almost like the smell of a battlefield. Ironhide made his way across the bridge and straight to Teletraan 1, Sideswipe covering his back with his spark in his throat.

“Well,” the older mech grunted after tapping through a few of Teletraan's screens. “Least I know why no one's been answerin'. Ship-wide system's been locked to prevent any outgoin' comm traffic fer some reason.”

“No outgoing...” Sideswipe's blaster almost fell out of his servos as the implications of that hit him. “How much time do we have left!?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Ironhide answered, already peeling himself away from Teletraan's console. “Not enough time to fix the system, but we can get Screamer outta the ship in that much time iffen we hurry. 'N jus' maybe...” He raised a digit to his comms once more while motioning with his other servo for Sideswipe to follow him farther into the ship. “Ratch?”

Several crackling noises greeted them as they sprinted out of the bridge, and then—

_ “There you are! Only been hailing you for the last hour!” _ Ratchet's voice came through at last.

“Somethin's up wi'Teletraan,” Ironhide explained, widening the comm line to include Sideswipe. “Wha's goin' on, Ratch? And where's Screamer?”

_ “Unsurprising!” _ Ratchet snapped.  _ “I wake up after getting knocked round the helm by  _ Skyfire _ only to find him and Starscream have gone and blown a hole in the bottom of the ship! Must've hit one of Teletraan's auxiliary terminals while they were at it.” _

There was a lot in that, but Sideswipe's processor stuck on one point in particular. “Skyfire did  _ what!? _ ”

_ “Yeah, well... Him, Starscream, and... Slag. That's Sideswipe there, isn't it?” _

“Yeah, it is. An' Ratch, this is gonna sound weird, but trust me, the fate o' the whole Earth might depend on it:  _ is Starscream okay? _ ” Ironhide wanted to know.

_ “Well... we got four life signals still.” _

Four?

“Who else?” Sideswipe demanded, pulling up short as his tanks started doing somersaults. “And what do you mean 'life signals'? Ratchet, is my brother down there!?”

_ “...Sunny's fine, s'far as I know,” _ Ratchet answered after too long a pause.  _ “Jazz says he wasn’t here when it all went down.” _

“Then who all got caught up in the blast?” Ironhide demanded. “An' what happened to 'em?”

There was another silence that stretched Sideswipe's patience with it.

_ “When they blew out the bottom of the ship, they opened up a sinkhole,”  _ Ratchet finally came back.  _ “Starscream, Skyfire, Prowl, and... and Sonic all fell in.” _

“NO!” Sideswipe yelped on instinct. “No! No, Ratchet, it's not... He's not...”

_ “Four life signals, Sideswipe, _ ” Ratchet's voice cut through his mounting panic attack.  _ “They're alive. Your son is fine, but Starscream's fading and Prowl is fading faster and we can't get to them!” _

“Ratch, we gotta get 'em outta there,” Ironhide growled, seizing Sideswipe's servo to pull him into motion again. “Megatron's threatenin' the whole planet wi' nuclear winter if he doesn' hear Screamer's voice sayin' he's okay an' comin' home in the next twelve minutes!”

_ “Well, I don't know what you expect me to do, Ironhide!”  _ the medic snapped back.  _ “Unless you've got experience moving multiple tons of rocks in extremely limited time frames, I suggest you tell Prime to work on his diplomacy! In the meantime, one of you two get to the medbay and grab a couple of triage kits on your way down here. I used the only one I could find down here on Jazz, who will survive, by the way, thank you for asking!” _

Ironhide let out a growl of frustration and stopped running, pushing Sideswipe on ahead of himself.

“You go to the medbay an' then meet Ratchet down below. See what y'all can do,” he ordered. “I'm goin' back out to get hold o' Optimus.”

“But—!” Sideswipe started.

“I'll be in touch with ya, Sideswipe,” Ironhide promised, already disappearing down the corridor. “We'll figger it out. See if ya can't find that useless twin o' yours while yer at it.”

Sideswipe swallowed and fiddled with the safety catch on his blaster a moment before taking a deep breath and heading toward the medbay.

_ Don't worry about it _ , he told himself as he tried again to get ahold of Sunstreaker.  _ We've survived pinches like this before. Ironhide and Ratchet know what they're doing. Optimus knows what he's doing. _

Optimus  _ had _ to know what he was doing, or else what was the point of any of this?

 

* * *

 

“Starscream?”

The seeker blinked his optics back open and stared blearily up at Skyfire’s dim silhouette.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, buddy,” the shuttlebot requested, running a servo over his forehelm.

Starscream grunted and shifted his own servos lightly over the sparkling resting on top of him. An intense burning sensation was starting to spread through his abdomen that he suspected was an indication his solvents had corroded through his damaged tank and were starting to eat away at his other internal workings. On the bright side, he was barely noticing his claustrophobia in light of the increased pain.

After satisfying himself that Starscream wasn’t dropping into emergency stasis, Skyfire shuffled back over to Prowl. They’d elected not to try and remove the shrapnel in his chest in case it did more damage on the way out, and the Autobot’s vents were hissing in short, sharp gasps that made Starscream’s helm ache.

Prowl and Skyfire exchanged a few brief lines of conversation, from which Starscream heard Prowl asking something about Nubby’s well-being.

“Why the frag do you care so much? He’s not yours,” the seeker grumbled.

“Starscream,” Skyfire reprimanded. “Any decent ‘bot would care about a newspark.”

So, why was Prowl the only one who had cared enough to do anything about it? Thundercracker would probably tell him not to inspect the paint on a gift ship, but that was one of many reasons that Starscream was Air Commander, not Thundercracker. As much as he tried to tell himself he didn’t care, Starscream couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that Prowl was trying to work some kind of angle here that could come back and bite them in the aft later. It was Prowl, after all. He was always working an angle.

“No angle,” the intelligence officer muttered as if he’d been reading the seeker’s thoughts. “Just… couldn’t watch… Not again.”

Starscream glanced over to see Prowl shaking his helm back and forth while Skyfire made soothing noises at him. The seeker scowled, then coughed and groaned theatrically.

“I think I’m gonna purge,” he lied, and Skyfire was back with him in mere seconds.

“Lay on your side,” the shuttlebot advised, and Starscream let out a genuine gasp of pain when he tried to comply and his internals shifted wrong.

Skyfire laid Nubby on the ground, out of the path of any impending vomit, and rubbed his friend’s back while the worst of the pain passed.

“Optimus is an idiot.”

Both the fliers turned back to Prowl, propped against the wall a few yards away.

“W-what?” Skyfire stammered.

The other Autobot just blinked slowly, optics fixated on the sleeping sparkling.

“Least we agree on  _ something _ ,” Starscream muttered and focused back in on trying to get one of his trinemates to find him. There was no way he was dying in a hole with  _ Prowl _ of all mechs, even if the Autobot  _ was  _ being sensible for once.

 

* * *

 

Seven minutes to go, and Sideswipe skidded through the damaged medbay doors without so much as a second glance at the scorchmarks that Starscream must have left there while coming after Sonic. He was really going to kill Sunstreaker when he did find him. Clearly, the idiot had gone off to recharge somewhere, leaving Sonic alone and defenseless for the Decepticon to snatch up and get trapped at the bottom of a hole with, and his anger at his brother was a far more productive thing to focus on than the terror for his son's well-being. A  _ millennia _ of taking all of Sideswipe's cleaning duties wouldn't be enough to cover for this!

_ “Sideswipe?” _ Ironhide’s promised comm finally came through.

“Please tell me you have good news!” Sideswipe panted as he snatched the triage kit Ratchet kept just inside the doors. There were more in the closet on the far side of the medbay. Good thing he'd paid attention during this year's emergency preparedness training.

_ “Well... Soundwave's tryin' to talk Megatron down now, an' Prime's hopin' he can buy us a few more minutes.” _

“Does Soundwave know why we  _ need _ a few more minutes?” Sideswipe wondered, and then added as an afterthought. “Or care?”

_ “Prime hasn' told 'im what's goin' on over here, no,”  _ Ironhide confessed.

“Maybe he should!” Sideswipe huffed, stacking several more triage kits into his arms and turning away from the closet. “If Megatron really cares about Screamer that much, then wouldn't he forget about blowing up the planet and come running if we told him his boyfriend's stuck at the bottom of a hole?”

“STARSCREAM'S  _ WHERE!? _ ”

The triage kits flew out of Sideswipe's arms at the sound of the voice. He reached for his blaster a second too late and, as he whirled around, he didn't get a chance to guard against the fist that met him with enough force to send him pirouetting in the opposite direction. Sideswipe started scrambling back to his servos and knees the second he hit the ground, the taste of energon flooding his mouth, only for a heavy, thrustered pede to connect with his side, punting him across the room a ways and flipping him onto his back. The impact knocked half the air from his vents, and the thruster that landed on his chassis next finished the job.

When his streaming optics finally focused again, Sideswipe found himself staring up the barrel of his own blaster, clutched in a familiar black servo.

“What’s the matter, Sideswipe?” Skywarp hissed, a manic glint in his optics and a too-wide grin fixed on his face as he cocked the blaster. “ _ You weren’t so reluctant for me to pin you down that night! _ ”

Behind the seeker, Sideswipe saw Ravage prowling toward them and Ramjet lurking in the background with Sunstreaker's limp body thrown over his shoulder.

Five minutes left.

Sideswipe sincerely hoped that Soundwave was as good at sabotaging Megatron's plans as theirs.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker hit the ground like a meteorite, grass catching flame around his thrusters in two wide furrows when he flipped out of alt mode and let the earth eat up the rest of his momentum. Panicked Autobots and Decepticons alike went scurrying in his wake to snuff the blaze in case it caught the pile of warheads that Megatron had perched himself upon. Thundercracker ignored the lot of them and his skid turned to a determined stride without missing a beat.

Soundwave and Optimus Prime were both stood at the bottom of the pile, watching his approach with something between curiosity and wariness. Above them, Megatron had schooled his features into righteous fury, but even from the air, Thundercracker hadn’t missed the flash of horror that had crossed it the moment he’d gotten close enough for his commander to pick out his colors.

Good.

“You should be in the medbay still, Thundercracker,” Megatron growled, his servo tightening on one of the warheads.

“So should you, apparently. I think you might have a couple fuses loose in your possessor,” the seeker returned, folding his arms across his cockpit and planting himself obstinately between the other two mechs at the base of the pile. He didn’t quite manage to conceal a smirk at the scandalized look that flashed across his commander’s face. “What? Is only Starscream allowed to tell you when you’re being an idiot?”

“Thundercracker; purpose?” Soundwave inquired.

“As you can surely see, this is a highly delicate situation—” Prime started on his other side.

“I’m sparked,” the seeker interrupted him, gaze still fixed on the mech on top of the pile.

Optimus jolted back, Soundwave actually choked, and above them, Megatron’s optics narrowed back into slits.

“Brought Hook’s readouts if you don’t believe me.” Thundercracker produced the datapad from his subspace and threw it toward his commander, making sure Megatron would have no choice but to catch it or be struck between the optics with it. There was a moment of silence while Megatron scrolled through it, his face darkening all the while.

“Are you… Who’s the sire?” Optimus finally spoke.

“Why?” Thundercracker sneered up at him. “Are you going to rip it from my chest if it’s one of yours?”

The Prime balked slightly, and Thundercracker felt the anger he’d promised himself he wouldn’t allow into this situation start to swell within him like a rising tide.

“I never intended to harm—”

“Just shut up, Prime.”

“Thundercracker, the situation—” Optimus started again, and this time the seeker interrupted him with the barrel of a blaster pressed beneath the Prime’s chin.

“Try to excuse yourself again, and I will do my level best to end this war myself,” he snarled, not even glancing at the countless Autobot weapons that had just turned on him. It wasn’t a threat; he was simply informing Optimus of his current mood.

Optimus’s servos came up carefully to wave down his soldiers.

“I understand—”

“You understand nothing, or you wouldn’t even be trying to have this conversation,” Thundercracker returned, pressing his blaster forward until it was denting the other mech’s throat cables.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, Thundercracker,” the Prime wheezed around the obstruction. “Not while you carry—”

Thundercracker pulled his servo back and smashed it, weapon and all, into the other mech’s face. Optimus stumbled backward, bright pink energon bursting from a gouge under his left optic.

“There’s not enough time in this life to explain why you deserved that,” Thundercracker sneered, continuing to stand firm while the Autobots behind him cried out in rage, and the Decepticons cheered in turn.

“Thundercracker, stand down!” Megatron bellowed over the commotion. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Come down here and make me!” Thundercracker shouted back up at him.

“Thundercracker…” Soundwave intoned softly, laying a careful servo on the seeker’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Soundwave,” Thundercracker told him without breaking optic contact with his commander. “As long as I’m here,  _ sparked _ no less, Megatron isn’t blowing anything up. So, if you don’t want to see this planet turn into a radioactive wasteland, I’d think twice about that counterattack you’re considering over there, Prime.”

“While I’m relieved to hear you express concern for humankind—”

“This has nothing to do with humankind,” Thundercracker snorted, finally forfeiting his staring contest with Megatron to turn on the Prime again. “I’m here because I’m sick of you two making my trinemates cry!”

“As am I,” Megatron finally rejoined the conversation. “Why do you think I’m doing this, Thundercracker?”

“Because you and Starscream are both overly dramatic romantics who think that problems are better solved with drama than talking?” the seeker suggested.

The two of them glared at each other for another moment, the hinges in Megatron’s jaw creaking loudly enough for Thundercracker to hear even from where he was, and then Megatron turned abruptly toward Optimus.

“Prime,” he barked. “Your time is up, but I’m willing to give you an additional 30 minutes either to convince me Starscream is on his way or to get Thundercracker out of here so that you can perish at least knowing you weren’t responsible for  _ two _ innocent sparklings’ deaths.”

“Stop bluffing,” Thundercracker snapped.

“Is he?” Optimus rumbled, optics determined as he stepped back toward the seeker. “Autobots, we have a new objective.”

Before Thundercracker could react, a large servo grabbed him by the shoulder vent and dragged him back, Soundwave stepping in front of him protectively.

“Decepticons,” the communications officer spoke. “Operation; guard Thundercracker’s position.”

“Remove Thundercracker from the area!” Optimus’s deep baritone rang out in turn.

“Gently, if you don’t mind,” Megatron called down from his perch.

“Of course,” Optimus agreed.

Thundercracker let his helm fall forward against Soundwave’s back with a groan. If it weren’t for Starscream, he really might consider letting these two blow themselves up.


End file.
